Keeping Secrets
by iheartwriting
Summary: Fred Weasley is good at being deceptive. So good that nobody knows he's now a Death Eater. Not even George. (Set during DH. Twin-centric with a bit of FredXHermione to come.) Rated T for mild language. And snogging.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I made a point of saying I probably wouldn't do any multi-chapter fics right now, but then someone came to me with a multi-chapter fic request and it was too intriguing for me to pass up. So here we are ;)

Thank you to the lovely **booknerd162** for letting me adopt your plot bunny! I hope I do the story justice and I hope you enjoy what I come up with :)

Since we're going through DH, I do use some lines directly from the book and movies but I do not claim them as my own. I do not own anything HP-related. I'm just a fan who is thankful Ms. Rowling lets us play with her characters :)

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XxX

**Chapter One**

George and I stood close together on the dark street just outside number four, Privet Drive, waiting while the others of the group chatted in hushed voices, discussing last-minute details of the plan to move Harry to The Burrow.

"You ready to do this?" George said in a quiet question to me.

"Of course," was my immediate reply. But catching sight of the unsure look in his eyes, I frowned. It wasn't like George to be timid about anything. "Why? Aren't you?"

"Course I am," he said, squaring his shoulders and puffing out his chest a little to support this claim.

I flashed an easy, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Old Voldy has no idea we're doing this tonight. We'll be fine. I promise."

George nodded like he wanted to believe me. "It's just–" he went on, his frame shrinking again, "–I can't shake this feeling in my gut. Something feels off."

"Probably because you're feeling with somebody else's gut," I said lightly with a quick poke to George's stomach to prove my point. The flesh there was scrawny and less defined than that of our own torsos. I frowned and withdrew my hand, suddenly feeling uncomfortable at having such extensive knowledge of the state of Harry Potter's stomach muscles. "I'll just be glad when we're in our own bodies again."

"You and me both." George laughed, his shoulders visibly relaxing. "It would be tragic to get stuck like this. All those years of keeping fit gone to waste."

I laughed with him, glad to see my twin at ease and joking again.

Ahead of us, the group began to disperse, wishing each other good luck and breaking off into pairs for the journey.

I bumped my shoulder into George's. "See you at the house."

He nudged me back. "Yeah," he said. "You better."

And then we reluctantly split up, George moving to the front of the group to join Lupin, while I stayed behind with our dad. We'd wanted to ride together, of course, but the others had argued against it and, although I'd been incredibly irritated by the whole thing at first, I had to admit now that it may have been for the best. With legs that were much shorter than those I was used to possessing, even climbing onto a broom felt odd and unusually challenging. I could imagine that manipulating the foreign limbs to fight off an attacker would be even more difficult. (Not that it would come to that.)

On Mad-Eye's count, we all pushed off from the ground and took to the dark sky.

Where we were met immediately by a group of Death Eaters.

I heard my dad breathe out a swear, but I was too stunned to speak. This wasn't supposed to happen. Voldemort believed the Order was moving Harry on his birthday. The attack was supposed to happen _then_. Not tonight.

I lurched in my seat as the broom suddenly sped forward, my dad pushing the broom as fast as it would go in an attempt to break through the circle of Death Eaters. But there were too many and they were closing in too fast.

I craned my neck looking for George, twisting this way and that, but was unable to find him in the chaos, my vision a blur of billowing black robes and flashes of red and green light.

One of the Death Eaters was drawing nearer, hurtling after us, and when the rushing wind blew his hood back, the man made no move to conceal his face, too focused on his task, too desperate to be the one to find the real Harry.

My eyes narrowed. I knew this one, this twisted and pathetic excuse of a wizard who was notorious for the way he toyed with muggle women before killing them in the name of blood purity.

The man raised his wand and took aim at my dad. But I was quicker.

"_Stupefy_!"

The spell found its target in the center of the Death Eater's chest before whatever curse he'd been planning had even left his lips, and the force of the blow knocked the wand from his hand and unseated him from his broom, sending him careening to the earth far below. The man's life would be over in a matter of seconds, unless a fellow Death Eater swooped down to rescue him.

And Death Eaters were not the rescuing type.

The man was little more than a dark speck below us now, still falling, moving closer and closer to the death that awaited him, and I just looked away, unable to conjure up any remorse.

The battle was long and loud, the voices of both friend and foe crying out, mingling and echoing amongst the clouds until it was impossible to separate them.

A shock of pink hair that must have been Tonks streaked past on my right, but a Death Eater trailed too close behind and Tonks and Ron swerved and dropped out of sight in an attempt to shake the unwelcome follower.

Pursued by a couple of Death Eaters ourselves, there was nothing my dad or I could do to help. We could only hex and stun and keep moving forward, hoping that all the others would make it safely through to meet us back at The Burrow.

But I knew that was a lot to hope for. There were too many green flashes of light. With so many killing curses flying about, could we really be lucky enough to all make it out alive?

It was the fact that I'd still caught no glimpse of George that forced me to believe that yes, we _could_ all make it out alive. Because the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

My dad and I were both breathless, our skin pale and clammy with sweat, when the Death Eaters began to fall back at last. There had been some turn in events, clearly, though whether this was good or bad, I couldn't yet tell. Still, I was thankful for the chance to finally catch my breath.

Delayed by the attack, we missed our portkey and were forced to fly straight on to The Burrow, and by the time the house came into view on the horizon, the polyjuice potion had begun to wear off. My body was morphing back to its normal appearance and, with the return of my own skin and limbs, there also came a slight, unpleasant tingle in my left forearm.

I loosened my grip on the broom and tugged at the now-too-small sleeve, stretching it until it reached my wrist.

"We're through the barrier," my dad said on a relieved sigh as we began our descent, passing through the protective wards the Order had put in place around The Burrow.

I scanned the faces of the people waiting on the ground below, anxious to see George, to see my mum and everyone else, to make sure they were all alright and to let them know that dad and I were still in one piece as well.

As the broom dropped steadily lower, the three figures staring up at me came into focus. There was Kingsley, his face stoic and unreadable, Hermione, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth in a way that told me not everyone had returned yet, and then there was Lupin.

And he was covered in blood.

My stomach dropped like a lead weight and I was swinging my legs around and dismounting the broom before it had even landed. I fell the last couple of feet and stumbled forward but quickly righted myself.

The same fear that I felt was made evident in my dad's words as he asked in a tense voice, "Where's George?"

And when Lupin took a step forward, gently lifting his hands in an attempt to soothe while starting his explanation with a too-careful, "Arthur..." my heart stuttered in my chest.

And then I was running.

There was blood on the ground. A lot of blood. Too much blood. A dark, glittering trail that lead to the house, and I knew it belonged to my twin. Even so, as my dad and I rushed through the backdoor, I was not prepared for the scene in front of me, for the sight of George, lying unconscious on the sofa, his neck stained scarlet with blood and a hole in the side of his head where his left ear used to be. I faltered a moment, the blood draining from my face until my skin was the same sickly-pale hue as my twin's.

I forced my feet to move again, crossing the room to be at George's side. I didn't even register the dull ache in my knees when I dropped to the floor in front of my brother.

At this close distance, I could see the slow but steady rise and fall of George's chest, and I reveled in the relief that flooded me. And then George's left arm moved, just a weak lift of his hand, but still a good sign that he might be coming around, and so I fixed my gaze back on his face.

"How you feeling, Georgie?" I asked, the words strained with my effort to keep them sounding calm.

George stirred at the sound of my voice, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, and his response came out as little more than a whisper. "Saint-like."

I swallowed, momentarily slipping back into panic. Had George's brain been damaged in the attack? "Come again?"

"Saint-like," George repeated, more firmly this time, his eyes finally opening and finding mine. "I'm holy." A pained smile spread across his face. "I'm _holey_, Fred. Geddit?"

The air left my lungs in a relieved _whoosh_, and the tension that had wrapped around my ribs and held my chest in a vice-like grip, all melted away. Under other circumstances, I might've tackled George in a crushing hug, but everyone was staring at us, so I resorted to a casual shake of my head instead.

"I'm holey?" I repeated in an incredulous tone even as my mouth stretched into a grin. "That's pathetic."

But George was only spurred on by the taunting, his smile widening. "Reckon I'm still better looking than you."

xx

One by one, the others began to wander off, heading out into the garden to await the arrival of Ron and Tonks, Bill and Fleur, and Mad-Eye and Mundungus, all of whom were still missing. George, however, was under strict orders not to move, so I settled myself down on the floor by my brother's head.

As we sat in silence, waiting to learn of the others' fates, I kept my gaze trained on George's face, watching him as if I was afraid he might keel over at any second in spite of our mum's assurances that he would be quite alright. The smile that I had worn as George laughed off his injury had long since faded, replaced by a frown that deepened with every passing minute.

"I was wrong," I said at last, finally breaking the silence.

George just looked at me with his brow slightly furrowed, clearly having no idea what I was going on about, something that was highly unusual for us.

"I told you it would be fine," I muttered. "I told you that they had no idea we were moving him tonight. I promised..."

George's mouth drooped into a frown to match mine. "This isn't your fault. You couldn't have known."

I turned my head and looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"_Fred_," George said with a laugh. "You're not serious, are you? You can't actually be blaming yourself for this."

"Your ear is gone," I pointed out.

"I remember. I was there," George said, his tone light.

I let out a shaky breath. "Bloody hell, George. You could've bled to death."

"Fred," George said again, all seriousness this time. "I'm alright. It's okay."

"It almost wasn't."

"Yeah. But it is."

I finally allowed myself to look at my brother once more.

"It's okay," George said again, his eyes locked onto mine, forcing me to listen. "Really."

I hesitated a moment, but then gave a single, curt nod. "Yeah," I said. "I guess it is." And I knew it would be. Because we were both still there. It was a close call, but we were still alive. And as long as that was the case, things would always be okay.

"Fred?" George said, his brow suddenly furrowed again as he contemplated something.

"Yeah?"

"I don't reckon you have a pair of extendable ears on you, do you?"

I raised an eyebrow, bemused. "I didn't think to put any in these pockets when we changed," I said, realizing for the first time just how uncomfortably tight the Harry-Potter-sized trousers had become around my once again Fred-Weasley-sized waist. "Why?"

George shrugged. "Just wondering if we could charm one in place of my missing ear. That way, we'd still match _and_ I would have amplified hearing. Could come in handy, that."

xx

When the others came back in, George and I were laughing together, but our mirth was cut short when our dad broke the news that Mad-Eye had been killed.

Stunned and grieving, we all had a drink (or several) in his honor, and I found myself thankful for the firewhiskey, the strong drink helping to distract me not only from the pain of Mad-Eye's passing, but also from the pain in my left forearm which burned so fiercely that it began to throb.

The Order members who remained gathered at The Burrow spent the rest of the evening making plans for Harry's protection while mum repeatedly attempted to steer the conversation to something more pleasant (namely Bill and Fleur's fast-approaching wedding) and George made stupid ear-related jokes for my benefit every chance he got. But eventually the others began to leave, departing for their own homes, and those who stayed behind started to stumble off to their respective beds.

It looked as if George and I might be staying the night as well. No doubt The Burrow's floo connection was being monitored and George was in no shape to apparate or to fly. He was too weak already and, thanks to the firewhiskey, he'd been snoozing peacefully for just over twenty minutes. An injured _and_ drowsy George certainly wouldn't be up for the trip.

I briefly considered leaving my brother as he was since he appeared lucky enough to have found a deep sleep, but the sofa was small and, even hunched into the fetal position, George's long and lanky form still left his neck bent at an awkward angle and his feet dangling off the end. If he stayed like that the entire night, he wouldn't be able to move the next day.

I leaned down, putting my hand on George's shoulder, and shook him gently. "C'mon, Georgie." At first, the only response I got was an incomprehensible grunt and I smirked. George never was one to appreciate having his sleep disturbed. "You'll thank me in the morning, brother dearest," I said through a laugh as I bent over, carefully tugging on my twin and positioning him until I had his arm draped across the back of my shoulders.

George grunted again but it was louder this time, the sound less-sleepy and definitely more-annoyed, and I knew that he was awake now. Offering my own shoulder as support, I pulled George briefly to a sitting position before putting all my weight into it and hauling us both up to stand on our feet.

George's eyes, which had finally been coaxed open, slammed shut again. "Oww. My head."

"Sorry," I said, swallowing down the guilt I felt. "Wanna stay down here?"

Another grunt conveyed his displeasure at the thought. "No way. My back is already killing me."

"It'd be a tight fit, but I could levitate you up the stairs if you think that'd be easier," I offered, knowing it wasn't the best idea I'd ever had. "Wanna try that?"

George laughed. "And risk having my already-pounding head smacked against the walls on all those tight corners? No, thanks." He tightened his hold around my shoulders and forced his eyes open again so he could see where we were going. "I think walking might be safer."

So I gave another careful tug on George's arm, hoisting him up for a more secure grip, and we made our way to the stairs.

For the first time since the fire, I was actually thankful–not that the old house had burned away to almost nothing–but at least that this new one was not quite as tall. Still, it took some effort to get George all the way up to the top landing and, by the time we reached the doorway of our room, we were both breathing harder than usual.

When The Burrow was being reconstructed, we'd argued against having a bedroom built for us, considering we had our own flat above our shop and apparition meant we could pop in and out at a moment's notice for visits, but our mum wouldn't even entertain the suggestion, insisting that The Burrow was our home and we would always have a place to sleep there.

Now stumbling with George through the door and laying eyes on the two spacious beds within, I found myself thankful that the woman had been so stubborn on the issue.

Gently as I could manage with my own limbs beginning to ache under the weight of my twin, I lowered George onto the mattress.

He worked to remove his jacket and, when the collar of it brushed painfully against his wound, I helped him shrug it the rest of the way off. Then George's hands went to work undoing the button and fly of his jeans and I finally backed away, leaving that task to him, though I did look on, observing the struggle as he was forced to wiggle and shimmy and then _peel_ the tight denim from his calves. If George hadn't been injured, I would've been doubled over laughing at him. But George _was_ injured and as soon as he was stripped down enough to sleep more comfortably, the only thing I could do was bend over to check the bandages bound around his head.

When George was settled, his eyes closed and his breathing slow, I took the chance to slip away.

"Where you going?" George asked, his voice rough with exhaustion, and I froze in place, my hand on the doorknob, my back to my brother.

I closed my eyes, steeling myself. Because this–lying to George–it never got any easier.

I fixed a small smile in place and forced myself to turn around. "I just want to pop over to the shop and make sure everything's alright there."

The words came easily and they sounded confident, but they tasted like bitter ash in my mouth.

"Alone?" George said, his tone making it clear that he didn't care for the idea. And, really, he was right. Nowhere was safe anymore. "It can wait until tomorrow."

But I couldn't wait. I was hours late already. "I'm not scared of them," I said. "And anyway, we do loads of things that are insane and dangerous all the time, don't we? Piece of cake."

"It's only a piece of cake because you have me there to bail you out," George said, now pushing himself up onto his elbows. "If it's that important, I'll come with you." He rolled out of bed and up onto his feet, but the action made him woozy and his bum fell back onto the mattress again. He groaned, raising a hand to cradle the side of his head.

"Don't be a git," I said, crossing the room and gently pushing George down by the shoulders until he was horizontal again. "You need to rest. I'm just going to check that the wards are secure, and I'm going to get a couple changes of clothes." I lifted a finger to point at the heap of wadded up denim on the floor. "You look ridiculous in those."

George scoffed. "Yeah?" he said, looking me up and down because I was wearing the exact same getup. "Might want to avoid looking in the mirror then, brother."

I reached across the small space and grabbed the pillow from the empty bed, turning back to [carefully] smack George with it. "Go to sleep. I'll be back before you even wake up."

George huffed but rolled onto his side and got comfortable on his pillow all the same. "Fine," he said. "Git."

I indulged him with a tiny smile... but the moment I stepped out into the hall and a door stood between us, I let it fade.

Now that the shock of battle had worn off, and the initial emotional high over George surviving his injury, I was finally able to feel my anger.

Someone betrayed The Order. Someone exposed our plan to Voldemort. Someone had nearly killed George.

And they were all going to pay.

xx

I crept through the house, careful to keep my steps quiet so as not to wake anyone. There wasn't any time for their questions.

I made my way back through the garden, fists clutched tight, fingernails digging into my palms as I tried to ignore the trail of my brother's blood still visible in small pools in the dirt, and I stopped only when I was sure I'd reached the edge of the protective border. With a glance back at the house to make sure no one had followed, I stepped beyond the wards.

Finally alone, I allowed myself to suck in a pained breath through my teeth. I winced, yanking the tight sleeve covering my left arm up to my elbow, and rubbed my palm over the newly-exposed skin on my forearm, trying to ease the burn of the Dark Mark branded there.

XxX

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**Reviews are adored and given big squishy virtual hugs :)**

**Also, I know a lot of my subscribed readers are partial to GeorgeXHermione (as am I.) I hope you can still enjoy this fic even though it will eventually be FredXHermione :) There will be more GeorgeXHermione stories from me in the future! **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: I still don't own anything :(

And please forgive any typos. I was in a rush to get this up for y'all tonight so I only made a quick once-over looking for mistakes. But I promise I'll go back and edit any that I find when I look it over again :)

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XxX  
**Chapter Two**

I'd made my choice the night The Burrow was attacked. That was the night that opened my eyes to the reality of what we were facing. George and I had barely managed to get out with mum and Ron before the whole place went up in flames, and then there'd been nothing to do but stand back and watch as the family home was reduced to smoldering ash in front of our eyes. That was the night the war became personal.

I decided then that I wouldn't just sit around and wait for Voldemort to rise to full power again. I wouldn't wait for the deaths of my twin, my family, my friends.

That was also the night that I decided, loyal as I was to The Order and everything they were doing, it wasn't enough. It hadn't saved Sirius. It hadn't protected my dad from being mutilated by that snake. In the end, it hadn't been enough to protect _Dumbledore_, for Merlin's sake.

And so, desperate to _do_ something, I had finally been driven to take matters into my own hands.

Or, rather, onto my left forearm.

Now standing outside the Malfoy Manor gates, I yanked the too-tight crimson tee I'd been wearing all night up and over my head and transfigured it into a black robe. It was plain and exceptionally dull but that only made it the perfect attire for a secret meeting of Death Eaters in the middle of the night on a gloomy estate. It was certainly better than the Harry Potter Doppleganger outfit anyway, so I slipped into the robes and then slipped inside the gate.

I knew it was mad–my being here, the whole notion that I could help take Voldemort down from within his own circle. It was absolutely mental, actually. But it was true, that old saying about desperate times...

Still, I meant what I'd said to George just a few minutes earlier: I wasn't scared of them. Though I wasn't sure this was necessarily a good thing. Especially on nights like this one when a healthy dose of fear might keep me from doing anything too rash. The few wizards wandering the grounds looked tense, to say the least, and I knew that Voldemort must have been in the foulest of moods, having let Harry slip through his fingers. Again.

And this meant I'd have to be extremely careful, something that would be even more difficult than usual after the night I'd had. After George's injury. Mad-Eye's death.

What I really wanted was to go in screaming curses and hexes to pay them in kind for what they'd done to us. I wanted to destroy the one who hurt George. I wanted to destroy them all. I wanted this war over. Wanted it all to be done with. For all the people I cared about to be safe again.

But that was exactly why I had to remain calm. To clear my mind. To appear detached from the tragedies of the evening.

I had no choice.

It had taken me _months_ to work my way into Voldemort's circle. Months of lying. Months of pretending to be ashamed of my family and their lax views on blood purity. Of swearing my loyalty to Voldemort and his causes so vehemently, so convincingly, over and over again, until Voldemort finally believed me and I'd felt so disgusted with myself that I lost my dinner behind a hedge on the Malfoy's front lawn afterwards. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst part was lying to George.

It was difficult from a practical standpoint - keeping my arms covered every minute I was awake so that George couldn't see my Dark Mark. (Long gone were the days of being able to walk starkers from the toilet to my bedroom after a shower. And no more days off spent swimming in the small lake just beyond The Burrow's orchard in the summer either.) And, considering that we spent all our time together, it was always difficult getting away from George whenever I was summoned to a meeting.

But looking him in the face and lying about it all? That's what was hard. That was damn near physically painful, that was.

And if I screwed up now, if I let my thoughts slip in front of Voldemort and let him see my true intentions, all of it would have been for nothing. All the lies and the guilt would have been in vain. And not only that, but the lives of my entire family would be at stake, and it would all be my fault.

The air within Malfoy Manor was even stuffier than usual, the atmosphere almost crackling with a silent tension so palpable that it set the hairs at the back of my neck on end. There were only a few Death Eaters gathered in the great room when I entered, making it clear that I'd missed the main event. The Malfoys huddled together in front of the fireplace on the far side of the room, Snape stood gazing out a tall, arched window, and Voldemort, the unnatural-glow of his pale head making him impossible to miss, towered over a sniveling Wormtail who was crouched low in the corner.

I squared my shoulders and approached.

"My lord," I said, forcing myself to remain calm when Voldemort spun slowly around to face me.

"Young Weasley." His voice, though deceptively soft, did nothing to hide the flash of anger in his eyes, confirming to me that the night had not gone the way he wanted it and he wasn't taking it very well. He crossed the room, his movements so smooth that he appeared to glide over the floor. "You are late. Why did you not come when you were summoned?"

"I was with The Order, my lord," I said as Voldemort began to circle around me.

"Relocating Harry Potter to a safe house. Is that correct?" I gave a cool nod and kept my face gazing straight ahead as he leaned in closer. "Tell me, Weasley–" I could feel his breath against my cheek, "–Why did you not come to me with this information sooner?"

"I wasn't aware of the change in plans until tonight, my lord," I lied easily. "I believed, as we all did, that they were moving Harry on his birthday next week. By the time I realized what they were doing, it was too late. If I had disappeared, even for just a moment to summon you, they would've suspected something." Voldemort drew back slightly and, out of the corner of my eye, I could see him regarding me, his mouth set in a straight line, eyes narrowed to little more than slits. "And then I was under the influence of polyjuice potion," I pressed on. "My mark was gone. I wasn't even aware that I'd been summoned until after it was all over and my body had changed back.

"Still," I added, risking a small smile, "you were a step ahead as always and didn't need my assistance after all. You were ready and waiting the moment The Order was in the sky. It seems you have another informant with information even more reliable than what I've got." I gave a laugh to lighten the mood and Voldemort graced me with a smile that was at least mildly amused, though still unpleasant.

"Indeed," he said. "And yet, no matter how well informed my loyal followers are, _Harry Potter still lives_!" His voice rose to a shriek as he spat out those last few words and he turned in a full circle so that he could chastise and intimidate every one of his gathered followers. But, just as quickly as he'd lapsed into rage, he composed himself again, becoming quiet, his voice softening, something that was even more unsettling than his shouting. "But not for long," he said. "It is only a matter of time.."

"Indeed," said Snape in a droning, nasally tone as he finally turned from the window. "The boy must die, and his time is drawing near. You will not have to wait much longer, my lord."

Voldemort's top lip curled into a sneer and, after months of learning to read his mannerisms, I could tell that Snape's words had placated him. "Do you bring me anything useful, Fred Weasley?" Voldemort asked, once again turning his attention back to me. "I am curious; What role did you play in tonight's attack?"

"I did what I could, my lord."

"Somehow I doubt that, considering the boy escaped me once again. Surely you, with your inside knowledge of The Order, knew which one was the real Harry?"

I nodded. "I did. And I tried to help secure him." At this, Voldemort raised an eyebrow. Well. He raised the bit of his face where there _should_ have been an eyebrow. "They were very smart about it, splitting us up and sending us off to different locations, with only a few knowing where Harry would be taken," I explained. "I wasn't in on the secret, but I planned to follow him so that I could report back to you on his whereabouts."

"Such a simple plan," Voldemort said. "And yet you return to me empty-handed?"

"The attack caught me off guard," I said in an off-handed sort of way. I'd learned from watching Wormtail that Voldemort did not appreciate cowering. He responded better to those who kept cool, almost disinterested, under pressure. Like Snape. "And, thanks to the polyjuice potion and a rather unfortunate resemblance to Potter, I couldn't go two seconds without a curse being hurled at my head." The idea of this must have entertained Voldemort, because he smiled slightly. This small victory boosted my confidence and loosened my tongue. And an idea came to me. "But I did try to get word to you, my lord. Driscoll," I said, speaking the name of the Death Eater I'd all but killed when I stunned him mid-air. "With my mark gone, I couldn't summon you directly to tell you what I knew, but I _was_ able to communicate with Driscoll when he came after me. I shouted and mouthed and mimed to him until I was sure he understood that Harry was with the big oaf Hagrid and that the two were heading North. He flew off then and I presumed–Driscoll being such a devoted follower and all–that he was on his way to tell you what he'd learned." I widened my eyes slightly in what I knew was an unassuming expression; it was as close to innocent-looking as a Weasley Twin could ever hope to be. "Did he never make it to you, my lord?"

"I'm afraid not. And, regrettably, Driscoll is no longer with us," Voldemort said in such an easy tone that it was made clear he didn't regret it at all.

"Lucius saw him fall to his death," Snape explained. "One of The Order must have gotten to him before he could reach Lord Voldemort."

I relaxed my face, pretending to look somber upon hearing the news. "I am sorry to hear it. Forgive me, my lord; I should have come to you myself."

With a flick of his hand, Voldemort waved me off. "Fortunately for you, Weasley, I found Harry Potter without your help. I had him in my grasp. But my wand..." He trailed off, eyes gleaming cold and furious again. "Ah, well. Ollivander has already been punished for misinforming me." He took a few steps away, turning to gaze out a window and speaking more quietly, as if more to himself than to anyone else. "The same mistake will not be made again."

I lowered my gaze to the floor and kept my mouth shut. Best not to disturb the evil dark lord when he was brooding.

Voldemort glanced back at me over his shoulder. "You do not know where they are hiding the boy, then?"

I shook my head. "No. But I have reason to believe he is, at least for the time being, holed up in Number 12, Grimmauld Place." Another easy lie.

"The old Black family residence," he pondered aloud, looking almost surprised that he had not considered it sooner.

"It served as headquarters for The Order for a time," I said, but didn't add that Dumbledore himself had been the one to cast the protective wards around the place and that none of Voldy's Death Eaters had a snowball's chance in hell of getting in there. Which meant they'd never know that Harry Potter was not hiding out inside. It ought to keep them busy for a while, at least.

"Well, I suppose it is better than nothing. It is more than anyone else has given me tonight," he added with a glance at the Malfoys who immediately turned from his gaze, scared and ashamed. Voldemort fell silent again and remained that way for quite some time.

"Do you require anything more of me tonight, my lord?" I said at last, waiting as he came out of whatever deep thought he'd been in and regarded me again.

"Is there somewhere else you would rather be?" he asked, his voice smooth and dangerous.

On instinct, my mind went straight to George, to the thought of him lying in bed with those blood-stained bandages wrapped around his head. "No," I said. "Of course not." But my response was just a beat too slow and Voldemort's eyes flashed.

"Lies," he said, the word ending in a hiss. He drew closer, his gaze piercing me. Searching me. "Your thoughts are on your brother." Too late, I tried to focus them elsewhere. But Voldemort just laughed. "It is no use, trying to hide yourself from me. I would advise you not to attempt it."

I opened my mouth to speak, to cover my tracks, to insist that I was exactly where I wanted to be, but Snape stepped forward and prevented me from doing so. "I believe, my lord, that the boy was injured tonight."

"Ah," Voldemort breathed, the pleasure in his tone making my face go hot. "I see."

"Pity my aim was off," Snape went on, now aiming a sneer in my direction. "I believe he only lost an ear."

The calm demeanor I had so carefully crafted disintegrated and I raised my wand, taking aim at Snape's face. My hand trembled with barely-suppressed rage.

"What's this?" Voldemort asked, and I didn't need to be looking at him to know that he was grinning now. "So _angry_, young Weasley."

He took a deep breath and then let it out with a long, satisfied exhale, like he could smell my anger in the air around us. And maybe he could. Because I could certainly feel it radiating off of me in strong, pulsating waves. Or maybe that was just the hard pounding of blood through my veins.

Voldemort drew near and began to circle me once again. "Your brother's loyalty still lies with your family, does it not? With those blood traitors who have forsaken every practice of honor, every thought of respect for their pure blood line. He still sides with them, assuming mudbloods and _muggles_ to be equal to us. And yet–" he paused, stilling his steps, "–still you care whether he lives or dies."

I inhaled sharply through my nose and readjusted my grip on my wand, trying to keep my hand steady. "He's my twin," I said, and it took every ounce of control I had to grind out those three simple words instead of the long list of hexes and curses poised on the tip of my tongue.

"How touching," Snape drawled, his mouth twisting into another mocking smile.

Of its own accord, my wand started to hiss and pop as angry red sparks spat from the tip. One hit Snape on the cheek and I heard the sizzle as it singed the skin there.

"What I find most interesting–" Voldemort began, his tone still controlled, not at all bothered by the confrontation between Snape and myself, "–is how easily you place one brother above the rest of your family. Where was this outrage last month when Fenrir disfigured the face of another brother?" I didn't answer. Of course I'd been upset when Bill was hurt. But this was different. This was.. well.. this was _George_. Voldemort laughed. "How cruel, the way you value his life above all the others. Do you deny it? Do not deny it. It is all right there in your mind for me to see."

"I don't deny it," I said, though something inside of me felt uneasy voicing such a thing. It was true, of course. No one came before George. But I would never normally say so out loud, probably not even to George himself. Because it _was_ cruel. But it had always been George and me. Gred and Forge. Wreaking havoc on the world. Together. Inseparable. And if it came down to it, I knew I would sacrifice _anyone_ else before I would ever sacrifice him. And that wasn't a pleasant thought. "George and I are the same," I said, both to myself to explain away the guilt I felt over any hypothetical situation where I might be forced to choose between George and anyone else in existence, and to Voldemort to explain away my anger. "I don't believe he's ready yet," I went on, struggling to regain control of the situation. "He still believes the lies our parents have raised us on. But given just a little time and a bit of persuasion, I know I could get him to join us. He's smart and he's brave and he would be an asset." I tore my gaze away from Snape and forced myself to look Voldemort in the eyes. "I don't want him killed before he has a chance to prove that to you."

Voldemort returned my gaze and I could feel him sifting through the thoughts hidden behind my eyes. He must have been amused by what he found, because he grinned. "Do you hear that?" he said with a hearty laugh, turning away to address the others who cautiously took their cue, responding with an awkward chorus of nervous titters. "Very well. We do not want to spill the blood of those who could be useful to us. Especially those of pure blood. Avoid killing the boy's twin, assuming he does not get in your way."

I felt dizzy with relief and finally lowered my aching arm, letting my wand dangle limp and unused between my fingers.

"But be careful, Weasley," Voldemort said, now gliding back towards me and speaking so only I could hear. "Love is a weakness," he hissed close to my ear. "And however deep yours runs for your twin, your life is mine now. And I do not suffer betrayal."

I swallowed and nodded. As much as I loved George, as much as I loved my mum and Ginny and dad, I knew it didn't matter as long as Voldemort was still alive and trying to snatch them all away. I clenched my jaw and met his gaze straight on.

"You are my priority, Lord Voldemort," I said in truth. "I assure you."

He stared just a moment longer, studying me, but then he smiled and I knew that we were finished for the night. "You may leave now, Weasley. I have other matters to which I must attend."

I dipped my head in a slight bow. "My lord."

And then he was gone.

xx

I let loose a string of colorful swears as I made my way back down the lane to the gates.

I was usually so much better at hiding my emotions around these people. Clearly, George's injury had thrown me for a loop but that was no excuse. If I didn't get myself together and learn to control my thoughts and feelings better than that, I was going to give myself and my true intentions away for sure. I couldn't risk that. I couldn't risk my family's safety. Not anymore than they were already at risk, anyway.

And I couldn't risk losing my place in Voldemort's circle.

Because I _was_ helping. I'd smuggled good info to The Order. Anonymously, of course, because no one knew what I was up to. Dad would've had a heart attack if he knew. Mum would've screamed until my ears bled and tried her best to keep me from stepping foot outside her house ever again. And George? Well. George would've been right there beside me. And what I was doing was completely mental. Nobody in their right mind would attempt it. So there was no way I was gonna let Georgie join me. This was my choice. My risk to take.

And I'd gotten pretty bloody good at it, sneaking anonymous tips to The Order while keeping Voldemort's entourage strung along on little tidbits of info that were just useful enough to keep them trusting me, without ever actually betraying Harry or The Order. To be quite honest, I wasn't sure myself just how I'd managed all that. Just naturally gifted in the ways of being deceptive, I supposed.

But if I was going to help bring Voldemort to his long-overdue end, I was going to have to stay alive. And that meant no more losing control the way I'd come so close to doing tonight.

"Weasley," an unmistakable voice drawled behind me, bringing me to a sudden halt. Grinding my teeth, I turned back to face Snape. He was still sneering, the miserable old git. Could his face even make any other expressions? "A word, if you will."

"You make one more remark about George and I swear you'll wish you hadn't." Alright. Perhaps keeping control of my anger was easier said than done.

But Snape ignored my threat. "Lord Voldemort is planning an attack on the ministry," he said, and my tight jaw went suddenly slack.

This was a bold move, even for Voldemort. "When?"

"Soon."

"How soon is soon?"

"Within the week, if all goes according to plan."

I nodded as if the news neither shocked nor troubled me. "Does Lord Voldemort request my presence?" I asked, bracing myself for his answer. So far, my role had mostly been to gather information. I really hadn't done anything more sinister than a little light thievery and I desperately wanted to keep it that way.

"No," Snape said, and now I nodded as if I wasn't overwhelmed with relief. "Rodolphus and Bellatrix are eager to handle it. It should be a simple enough task for them."

"Alright," I said slowly and carefully. "So you tracked me down to tell me this because..."

"While you were off playing healer to your twin, the rest of us were here doing something more important with our time. I'm simply keeping you informed of what you missed."

"Right. Well, thanks for that," I said, already spinning on my heel and walking away before he could say something else to make me want to hex him even more than I already did.

"Oh, and one more thing before you go," he called after me. I stopped but didn't turn around. "Voldemort might have been too preoccupied to notice it, but your emotions were written all over your face tonight. You would do well to take more care in the future."

I glanced back just in time to see him turn away, his long strides taking him back to the house.

What was all that about? What did he care if my emotions got me into trouble? The greasy git had done everything in his power to keep me from joining their circle in the first place; you'd think he'd love the opportunity to convince his precious master that I was really still in league with The Order.

And making a point to tell me about the attack on The Ministry...

Did he _want_ me to warn them? Was it an elaborate setup to test my loyalty? Was it even true? Or was he feeding me a lie, hoping I would warn The Ministry, and then he would know it was me who'd betrayed them? But if that was the case, if it was all just a lie, it's not as if old Scrimgeour would seek out Snape to share the gossip he'd heard about a supposed attack. If I warned him, the chances of anything getting back to Snape were basically nil. And if it was true, if they really did discuss an attack on The Ministry tonight, that meant all of the Death Eaters knew about it. And thus, there would be no way to trace the info leak back to me.

I shook my head at myself and my jumbled thoughts. There was nothing to consider. Regardless of Snape's motives, I had to warn them.

Were the ministry officials all idiots with their heads buried in the sand? Yeah. But they didn't deserve to be tortured and murdered for it. And what if my dad happened to be working when the place was attacked?

Someone had to tell them what was coming.

xx

George and I had been inside The Ministry a few times over the years. When we were little, our dad heard about this quaint muggle practice called take-your-child-to-work-day, a peculiar tradition where parents let their children tag along for the day to show them what they do for a living. Sounds like punishment for everyone involved to me. Anyway, with Bill and Charlie already gone off to Hogwarts, George and I were dragged from bed against our wills (while Percy trotted proudly alongside dad) and the four of us set off for his office. Later that morning, dad made the mistake of turning his back on us to deal with some minor departmental emergency, and he found us again hours later up in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad office, telling the old wizard working there that our dear Percy had magicked his oversized head to a more proportional size and to please change him back before our parents found out. Percy's head was the same size it'd always been, of course, but George and I reckoned a bigger one would better suit his over-inflated ego. The wizard actually believed us–George and I can be rather convincing–and was just about to enlarge Percy's head when dad barged in and stopped him. Shame. On the bright side, dad never tried to drag any of us to work with him again.

Not to say that we hadn't visited a few times after that for various reasons, but it had been so long that my memory of the place was now a little fuzzy. Not a great thing for someone about to attempt breaking and entering.

Still, if ickle Ronniekins and a handful of fourth and fifth years could sneak in by themselves in the middle of the night and partake in a loud, flashy battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters before any ministry officials even realized anyone was in there, I figured I would have no problem getting in and out.

I entered through the red telephone box designated for visitors and then took the lift down to the first level. Scrimgeour's office was easy enough to locate and I used a self-writing quill lying nearby to ink a letter for him, warning him of the impending attack, and then charmed the bit of parchment to look like an interdepartmental memo discussing broom regulations to anyone's eyes but Scrimgeour's before I placed it on his desk where he would be sure to find it the next morning.

I was back on the muggle London street less than twenty minutes later.

Talk about being in denial. The Ministry _seriously_ needed to reconsider their current security measures. Voldemort could simply walk in and take the place if he wanted to. They were just lucky that, up until this point, he hadn't been particularly interested in confronting them. He liked that The Ministry refused to believe he had regained enough of his former strength to be a real threat again. Their denial made everything so much simpler for him.

The time was coming though when they would no longer be able to ignore the truth staring them in the face. And it was coming soon.

Scrimgeour had the warning. I just hoped he would heed it.

xx

I popped over to the shop after that. Everything was dark and quiet and undisturbed, just as I'd expected it to be.

Upstairs in the flat, I made quick work of showering so that I wouldn't have to fight the crowds to do so at The Burrow later (and so I wouldn't have to risk anyone seeing my mark) and then I went about getting dressed in my bedroom, grabbing a fresh change of clothes for George from my dresser while I was at it. (It really didn't matter whose dresser I got clothes from. Everything always got mixed up in the wash and, with identical tastes in fashion, we could never remember what was whose, anyway.)

I knew old Voldy and his gang weren't the least bit interested in raiding our shop, but I checked the wards again anyway, because I'd told George I would, and then I apparated back to the lane leading to The Burrow.

As I passed through the protective barrier and approached the garden, I heard the distinct sound of hushed voices, of words being whispered hurriedly and harshly somewhere just up ahead.

I slowed my steps, creeping forward with a graceful sort of stealth that came naturally after all my years sneaking around, and I concealed myself behind a shrub, peering through the foliage as I searched for the owners of the voices.

I found them soon enough and was not the least bit surprised by the sight that met my eyes: the golden trio, hidden in shadow in the darkest corner of the garden. Always up to something, those three were.

It made my Weasley Twin heart proud.

Although, whatever they were discussing, it clearly wasn't going well. Granger, especially, looked incredibly put out.

I turned my head to the side to hear them better.

"You cannot be serious," I heard Hermione say. "You are not sneaking off in the middle of the night like this. And you are _not_ going without me!"

"Hermione," Harry countered. "Please. We really don't have time to argue about this."

"Then stop being an arse, Harry!"

I turned my face to look at the trio again, my eyebrows raised in mild shock. I'd never heard the little bookworm swear before. I smirked. I couldn't help it. She was obviously upset and, all things considered, it had been an awful night for everyone. But hearing a swear fall from Hermione Granger's lips was a pleasant turn of events.

"I'm coming with you," she went on to say, forcing my attention back to the conversation taking place.

"Told you we should've just left a note, mate," Ron muttered.

Harry rolled his eyes at this but didn't acknowledge the remark. Wise move. "I know you want to help," he said to Hermione. "But you can help me by doing this."

"Harry Potter!" Granger sounded dangerously close to tears now. "I won't be left behind! I'm not going back to Hogwarts while you two are out there on your own. What if something happens? You need me. Don't pretend that you don't!"

"I don't want you going back to Hogwarts," Harry said with a sad shake of his head. "With Dumbledore gone, you wouldn't be safe there. And yes, of course I need you! I need you doing what you do best. Researching." Harry lowered his voice then and I had to lean closer to hear what he was saying. "We still don't know where the real locket is. And we have no idea where the other horcruxes are. I need your help with that."

What the bloody hell was a horcrux?

"I can do that while I'm with you," Hermione insisted.

"But you can also do that here. Where it's safe."

She scoffed. "I don't think anywhere is safe anymore, Harry."

"You're right," he said seriously. "But beside me? That's the most unsafe place you could possibly be."

"I don't care."

"Hermione," Harry said, his exasperated tone indicating how exhausted he was. "My parents died trying to protect me. I lost Sirius. And Dumbledore. Now Mad-Eye's gone. I don't want _you_ to die for me too!"

Ron swallowed. "Bloody hell, Harry. You're doing a good job of talking _me_ out of going with you."

Hermione, however, didn't appear discouraged in the slightest. "You can't make that choice for me. I'm going. And if you try to slip off without me again, Harry Potter, I swear I'm going to make you regret it."

The Boy Who Lived and his bushy-haired best friend had a silent stand-off then, clearly both hoping that the other would cave first. But Harry didn't last long before he crumbled under Hermione's stubborn glare. He looked annoyed.. but touched.

"Fine," Harry said at last. "Fine! As long as everyone here is clear on what you're getting yourselves into."

"We're clear, mate," Ron said. Then added in a more timid voice, "but you know.. _mum_ will make us all regret it if we leave before the wedding."

Harry groaned. "Alright. We leave as soon as the wedding is over." And then he stomped off and back into the house, with my little brother trailing close behind.

Hermione stayed where she was, though, and as soon as both boys were out of earshot, she gave the tiniest of sobs, her shoulders slumping and her chin dropping to meet her chest as she hung her head.

I stepped out from behind the shrub. "Granger?"

She gasped, her head snapping up and her hand flying to her face to wipe away the tears she so clearly didn't mean for anyone to see. "Fred Weasley!" she said, her voice a strained mixture of fear and relief and embarrassment. And anger.

"Sorry," I said, offering her a small smile. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She looked up at me then, softening a bit at my gentle apology. "How's George doing?"

"Better," I said. "Thanks."

She nodded. "Good. I'm glad to hear it."

She sniffled, reaching up to dab her running nose on the sleeve of her jacket. I pulled my wand from my pocket and aimed it at the door that Ron had left standing wide open, and _accio_-ed a tissue. It zoomed into my hand, the edges fluttering in the breeze when I closed my fingers around it. I offered it to Hermione who made a cute–even if a bit snotty–laugh.

"Thanks," she said, her warm fingertips brushing over mine for the briefest of seconds as she took the tissue.

I smiled again in a non-verbal _you're welcome_ and then, ever the gentlemen, I looked away, turning my gaze up to the sky while she tended to her dripping nose.

It always amazed me, how clearly you could see the stars out here. It made me think of crowded family dinners in the garden in summer. Teaching a too-young Ginny to fly on her broom late at night where mum couldn't see what we were doing and have a meltdown over it. Camping with George and Ron in that ridiculously small muggle tent dad brought home, and sitting out in the dark field, telling Ron scary stories until he ran back into the house, too terrified to sleep outside. Heh.

I realized then that the sniffling had stopped and I turned my head slightly, just enough to see Hermione better out of the corner of my eye. She was looking up at the sky now too, and she was biting her bottom lip again, the way she'd done hours earlier as she'd watched and waited for everyone to make it back alright.

"So you three are actually leaving, then?" I asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Her mouth dropped open and, as we turned to fully look at each other, I could see the anger returning, etching itself into every line of her furrowed brow. "You were eavesdropping."

I laughed. "You honestly expect anything less of me? I think I should feel a bit wounded by that, you know. I thought you knew me better." I ducked my head, flashing her a sly grin. "I'm Fred Weasley. Of course I was eavesdropping."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What are you even doing out here, anyway? Don't you know what time it is?" Not too amused by my attempt at playfulness, then.

"I could ask you the same thing, Miss Granger," I said, crossing my arms and staring her down in a mock scolding. "What are you doing out of bed at this time of night?" How many times had George and I heard _that_ line from the feisty little prefect in our last year at Hogwarts? I'd lost count after the first dozen.

Hermione just glared back up at me. "That's none of your business," she spat back and, not only was there no trace of teasing in her words, but there was a slight bite to them.

I raised an eyebrow. "Alright," I said, shoving my hands down into my pockets, accepting that perhaps tonight wasn't a good night for joking. "I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?" And then I took a step back from her, ready to make for the house.

But before I could get very far, she sighed. "I'm sorry," she said and, judging by how small her voice sounded, I knew she meant it. "It's been a long night."

I nodded, turning back to her. "Yeah. It has."

"I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just–" she paused, frowning at me. "The less you know about what we're doing, the better. That way you'll at least have less to hide when people come looking for us and asking questions."

I gave her a dry smile. "Yeah. I get it." And she was right. It was better if I knew nothing. Especially now. Because Voldemort knew that my little brother was one of Harry's closest friends, and he would certainly start asking me questions if Ron just up and disappeared. The less I knew about whatever they were getting up to, the easier it would be to convince Voldemort that I was just as in the dark about the whole thing as he was.

"They were trying to sneak off without me," Hermione said now. She was looking up at the sky again, avoiding my gaze, probably because the freshly forming tears in her eyes gave away just how much she'd been hurt by it. "After all those years of friendship. After everything we've been through. How could Harry do that?"

"He was trying to protect you," I said, even though I was sure she knew that already.

"Oh, but Ron doesn't need protecting? Harry had no problem letting Ron go with him."

"That's different though, isn't it? You're a girl," I said, and when Hermione opened her mouth, no doubt to tell me off, I fixed her with a surprisingly stern look that silenced her immediately. "I'm serious, Hermione. You can stand there and act like that doesn't matter, but it does." Having spent too many months around the likes of Fenrir Greyback and Driscoll, I knew it mattered. I knew Hermione was smart and brave and strong. But I also now knew–as much as I wished I didn't–exactly what a man like Driscoll would do to her if he caught her and it made this instinctual desire to protect her flare up in my own chest. So I could understand how Harry, her closest friend in the world, must feel. "Harry cares about you. You can't blame him for wanting to keep you safe."

"But that's the thing," she said, sounding more frustrated than angry. "I care about him too. And if I want to risk everything to help keep _him_ safe, that's my choice. He can't decide something like that for me."

I nodded seriously. "You're right. You want to be fighting at his side and he shouldn't try to take that away from you just because he's scared. I just think you should consider his side of things, is all..."

I trailed off, letting my gaze drop to the ground, realizing that I wasn't just talking about Harry and Hermione anymore. I was talking about George and me. Because wasn't I doing to him the same thing Harry had just tried to do to Hermione? I was hiding my dealings with Voldemort from George because I knew he'd insist on joining me, and I didn't want him involved. Because I wanted to protect him. Not because I thought he was weak, but because what I was doing was the most dangerous thing either of us had ever done, and I didn't want to risk George's life on a game I might not win.

And here Hermione was, in tears because Harry and Ron had just _thought_ about leaving her behind.

What did that say about how George would feel? Because what I'd done was even worse. _Because it was already done_. In a sense, I had left him behind already. And I had been hiding it from him for months. I'd like to think he'd forgive me. It was rare for us to fight and we _never_ stayed angry with each other for long. But we'd also never kept secrets from each other.

I dragged a hand down my face, exhaling a breath that came out in an exhausted groan.

"Fred," Hermione said, looking up at me now with a worried expression. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," I said. "Just peachy."

She frowned.

"Sorry. No," I answered again, truthfully this time. "No, I'm not really alright."

Hermione turned her body to fully face mine and I watched as she lifted a hand, reaching up and wrapping it so gently around my right forearm, just beneath my elbow. "George will be okay, Fred."

The comfort she offered was visible in her eyes–big, dark pools that searched my own, seeking to reassure me–and it was felt in her touch, her thin fingers still wrapped around my arm, connecting us. My face softened into a smile. "Thanks, Granger."

She smiled back, a little bashfully, but looking pleased all the same. "Have you gotten any sleep yet?" she asked and I shook my head. "No wonder you look so terrible," she said with a laugh.

I tried to look offended by that comment but couldn't quite seem to wipe the smile from my face. I liked it when Granger loosened up enough to tease me.

"Aside from Harry and Ron, I don't think anyone else is awake," she went on. "You should go sleep for a few hours before they all get up."

"Yeah," I said. "Probably not a bad idea."

And then I cast a meaningful glance down at her hand, still holding onto me, preventing me from leaving.

Hermione made a delightful little gasp, immediately dropping her hand and taking a small step back. It was difficult to tell for certain with nothing but the dim starlight to illuminate her, but I was fairly sure that her cheeks had gone rather pink too. Only natural, I supposed, considering it was the first time we'd ever touched. Apart from the accidental bumping of elbows whenever we sat next to each other at meals, and the accidental brushing of fingers while exchanging a tissue, that is.

"Well," I said, choosing not to comment on her suddenly blushing state. "Goodnight, then."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed, her voice a bit too high and I fought back a smirk.

I might have to make a point of introducing a bit more physical contact into my relationship with the bookworm if this was how she was going to react to it.

I crossed the garden to the house, feeling quite a bit lighter than I'd felt before stumbling upon the trio.

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" I said, stopping in the doorway and turning back to face her. She was standing still where I'd left her, with her arms now wrapped around her ribcage, watching me with eyebrows raised just a fraction as she waited to hear what I had to say. "Don't let me catch you out of bed after hours again. Next time, I'll have to deduct points."

Whatever bashfulness had come over her moments earlier disappeared before my eyes. She pursed her lips, trying for all the world to look angry with me, but I knew she was faking it and so did she. I flashed her a grin and, the moment I stepped inside the door, I heard her soft laughter come drifting in behind me.

xx

Back upstairs, George was laid out flat on his back, his lips slightly parted, sure signs that he was in a sleep so deep that nothing short of a small explosion would wake him.

I lowered myself onto the other bed, too exhausted to even kick off my shoes.

But not too exhausted to appreciate the quiet moment.

I rolled onto my side, watching George and noting, even through my already-drooping eyelids, the steady rise and fall of his chest that meant he was still there. Still breathing. Still fighting. Still living.

I heard a creak in the floorboards downstairs, followed by the sound of light footfall on the steps and the familiar groan of Ginny's door opening and closing, those little sounds telling me that Granger had come inside and was turning in for the night too.

My muscles relaxed against the mattress, my body sinking into the soft pillow and covers, and my eyes fluttered shut at last.

XxX

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	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Sorry I'm late in getting this chapter posted. I had family visiting from out-of-town which had me otherwise occupied for a while, and then, this week, I had food poisoning. (And my birthday was Tuesday, so I had food poisoning ON MY BIRTHDAY D: haha. It was lame.)

Thanks for bearing with me. I hope none of you have ever had food poisoning because I wouldn't wish it on anyone, but if you have, I'm sure I have your sympathies! :P

Now on with the fanfic! :)

* * *

XxX

**Chapter Three**

"Wake up, sleeping beauty," I heard a voice identical to my own say from somewhere nearby. "I have breakfast."

My eyes were heavy and they burned with too-little sleep, but I forced them open anyway. George stood at the foot of my bed, holding an impressive stack of what looked and smelled like mum's bacon sandwiches. I groaned, stretching out my limbs.

"What time is it?" I asked, my voice rough and thick with sleep.

"Time for us to get out of here."

I reached up, rubbing my tired eyes with one hand, trying to wake myself. "Why? What's going on?"

"Mum," George said and when I looked up at him, he was making a horrified face, his eyes widened in distress to emphasize just how dire the situation was.

I chuckled. "What's the woman doing now?"

"Doling out chores," he said and then added, "I swear this wedding is making her even more barmy than usual."

"Mm. Let me guess." I pushed myself up onto my elbows, pretending to ponder. "She's trying to make everything perfect before the Delacours get here."

"Ding, ding, ding!" George said, implying that I'd won the guessing game. "She's already got Ginny and Granger changing all the sheets, Ron's de-gnoming the garden, and Harry is matching ribbons and flowers."

"Blimey." I shook my head sadly. "It's bad enough that old Voldy is trying to kill him at every turn–and came awfully close last night–but now Harry's forced to help with the wedding decor. Poor bloke."

George nodded in agreement. "No kidding. But I told mum we had important shop stuff that needed seeing to."

"Good thinking."

"And I might've really played up the I-was-gravely-injured-last-night bit."

I flashed him a conspiratorial grin. "Brilliant, you are."

George beamed at the praise. "She went all weepy and soppy and ordered me to take it easy today, and then she kissed me goodbye."

I reached my hands across my stomach so that I could give him a slow, proud clap. "Well done, Georgie."

"Thank you, thank you." He bowed his head slightly, looking very pleased as he accepted my admiration. "Oh, and mum sent a goodbye kiss for you too," he said as a casual afterthought.

I huffed a breath and dragged myself up until I was seated in an upright position on the bed. "Alright," I said, sounding reluctant. "Give it to me, then." And I pushed my lips together in a slight pucker. George simply stared down at me and, when I realized he wasn't budging, I raised my eyebrows at him in an expectant expression. "Well? Don't be stingy with mum's kisses, Georgie. Let's have it."

George responded then, taking one long step to close the distance between himself and the edge of my mattress. He kept his eyes locked on mine as he bent forward, stopping only when our faces were level, and an easy, devilish smirk crossed his face...

Right before he shoved a bacon sandwich into my mouth.

I laughed, the sound coming out as a snort through my nose since my mouth was otherwise occupied by toasty bread. George rolled his eyes at me and shook his head like he thought I was ridiculous, but his lips were pursed together and drawn to one side as he fought back a smile, pretending he wasn't amused even though he so clearly was.

"Let's take these to go," he said, nodding down at the bundle of sandwiches in his hand. "Mum might've gone all emotional and granted us a leave of absence, but I think it's likely she was just too busy to realize what she was doing. We should make our escape before she comes to her senses and puts us to work polishing all the cutlery."

I swallowed around a bite of my bacon sandwich and nodded in whole-hearted agreement. "You're right. We should make ourselves scarce."

"We should probably just avoid mum completely for at least a day or two," George said, and then added, "for her own good, of course."

"Oh, of course," I said seriously. "We'd only be in her way here."

"Exactly! She'd get so much more done without us around to cause mayhem."

"And, once the illustrious Delacours arrive, mum will rest so much easier having us back at our own flat, where she won't have to worry every second of the day that we might do something to offend the company."

"I _am_ feeling particularly wicked, now that you mention it," George said. "Practically overcome with the urge to prank unsuspecting guests."

I nodded. "And the urge to swear. Lots of swearing."

"Mm," George agreed. "Best not risk it. For mum's sake."

"We're such good sons."

"The best."

And like mirror images, identical grins spread over both our faces at the exact same moment.

My heart felt light at the realization that, serious as George's injury had been, it certainly hadn't dampened his spirits.

Still, I couldn't help eyeing his bandages. They looked fresh and there was no longer any trace of blood seeping through the gauze.

"Are you sure you're up for the trip?" I asked, now steering our exchange in a more serious direction. "You feeling alright?"

"Right as rain," George said. "Bit sore still, you know. But aside from that, I'm pretty spiffing, actually."

"Yeah?"

He smiled a small, genuine smile. "Yeah. Let's go home."

I nodded, returning the smile, and as I swung my legs around to put my feet on the floor, George crossed the room to stand before the window. With one swift movement, he had it open and then he turned back to face me.

"Out through the window?" he asked.

"Ah. Just like old times," I said, fondly recalling the many nights we used to sneak out after everyone else had gone to sleep so we could "borrow" dad's flying blue Ford Anglia. I still missed that car.

I approached the window but then stopped to stand beside George. "After you, your holeyness."

He grinned. "See! I knew you liked my terrible ear jokes."

"You do know me well," I said, rather unnecessarily. "Now get your arse out the window before mum comes up here and catches us sneaking out."

So George climbed through the window and I followed him down, each of us taking care to wedge the toes of our shoes into the small crevices between the boards of the house so we didn't lose our footing and fall. I supposed it would've been safer if we'd just levitated each other down, but where's the fun in always doing things safely?

When we were close enough to the bottom, George let go and dropped to the ground. As soon as he'd stepped aside to give me room, I did the same.

"And just where do you boys think you're off to?"

George and I both froze. But we knew that voice, and as George and I exchanged a glance, our mouths stretched into small smiles.

"Back home," George answered as we both turned around to face our frowning dad. "Things to do at the shop."

I nodded. "Time is money, dad."

His face was red and covered in sweat and the shrubs beside him had all been trimmed and charmed until they no longer resembled the wildly overgrown ones that used to occupy that space. Dad's gaze darted cautiously to the right, and then to the left, before he finally looked back to George and me. "Take me with you?" he whispered. "Your mum is driving me batty!"

George laughed and I shook my head. "No can do," I said. "Mum would track you down and then haul all three of us back. We can't risk it."

"Yeah, dad," George said, stepping forward and clapping him sympathetically on the back. "I'm afraid it's every Weasley man for himself."

Dad grumbled but he knew we were right and he smiled and good-naturedly waved us off.

xx

Several peaceful days passed. There were no attacks. No summonings for secret Death Eater meetings. Just George and me at the shop.

With times getting darker and so many tragedies occurring closer to home for so many people, our few other employees had all quit, either to go into hiding or just to have more time with the people they cared about. And that was well enough, I guessed, because we were the last shop still open on the street which meant there weren't many customers coming in, anyway.

Not to say there wasn't still plenty to be done.

We took inventory and restocked the shelves and even devoted an afternoon to developing a new range of Wonder Witch products that we were determined to launch as soon as business was booming again.

All in all, it was an enjoyable few days with my twin, and I found myself almost forgetting at times that there was a war going on outside, beyond the walls of our happy little premises at 93 Diagon Alley.

But we couldn't stay holed up in our shop forever and, when Harry's birthday rolled around later that week, George and I prepared ourselves to return to The Burrow to celebrate.

"Oi," George said, strolling into my bedroom late that afternoon, dripping wet from his shower. "What are you wearing to the birthday dinner tonight?"

I'd been lying on my bed, taking advantage of the last moments of peace before we headed off to face mum who, now playing host to Monsieur and Madame Delacour, was sure to be exceptionally frazzled. "Hmm," I said, now turning my head and casting a glance over at my wardrobe as I contemplated my options. "Dunno. Light blue button-up–the one with the diamond pattern, maybe. Yellow vest. Yellow tie." I looked up at George. "You reckon?"

George considered this in silence a moment. "Do the darker blue button-up with the paisley print instead," he said at last.

"Yeah, alright," I agreed.

And George nodded, looking satisfied, and then walked back out.

When I walked into _his_ room half an hour later, George was wearing a perfectly coordinated outfit. Yellow paisley print button-up, dark blue vest, and dark blue tie that he was currently securing around his neck.

"Not quite as dashing as me, of course," I teased as I eyed him up and down. "But I suppose you'll do."

"Heh." George's laugh was weak and not the response I'd been expecting.

"What is it?"

He let go of his tie and redirected his attention to the cuffs of his sleeves, trying to do up the buttons there. "S'nothing," he said, but he quickly grew frustrated with his task and dropped his arms to his sides, huffing. There was an uncharacteristically sour look on his face.

I placed the box I was carrying–big and wrapped in magenta paper and filled with the latest Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products (our birthday gift to Harry)–on George's bed and then crossed the room to him. I grabbed his left wrist and brought it up between us, my fingers easily finding the small buttons and pushing them through the corresponding holes. George was still frowning but he didn't object. "What are you thinking about?" I asked him.

His frown deepened. "It's stupid."

I let go of his left wrist and took hold of the right. "Tell me anyway."

George hesitated for just a moment, but then he sighed and in a mumble he finally said, "My ear."

I frowned then too. "Is it hurting?"

"No, it's fine. Better than fine, actually; it's healed. I should probably take the bandages off now."

Confused, I glanced up from his sleeve to look at his face. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, course it is."

"But?" I prompted, because his expression said he felt otherwise.

"I guess it's just now sinking in," he said with a rather dejected-looking shrug of his shoulders. "My ear is gone." He paused for a moment, but I could sense there was more to it than that so I kept silent and waited for him to continue. "We don't match anymore," he said at last. "Our entire lives, no one has ever been able to tell us apart. Not even our own mum. And now suddenly everyone can because part of my body is just _gone_."

George's pain over our not being identical hit me like a kick in the gut, catching me off guard, and I added one more bulleted point to my mental list of reasons why he might not forgive me for what I'd done. Because I knew something that he didn't: because of the Dark Mark now branded into my skin, we didn't match anymore anyway. And I had made that choice of my own free will.

The guilt tugged at me like a physical weight hung around my neck.

"George–"

"I know," he said, cutting me off. "I told you it was stupid."

I shook my head, struggling for words. "S'not stupid."

George gave me a sad smile, saying _thanks_ without actually having to say it. "It's not just that though."

"Alright." I released his right wrist, all buttons now fastened. "What else?"

George raised his eyebrows at me, as if I should've been able to guess. "There's a gaping hole in the side of my head," he said. "It was kinda wicked at first, all bloody and horrible looking. But now that it's healed, it's just..." He let his sentence go unfinished, but I knew what he was thinking. His very attractive and popular-with-the-ladies head had been irreparably marred. "Maybe I should start wearing turbans to keep it covered," he joked lamely. "That could be my new look. I could start a trend."

Most things rolled right off our backs, and we'd _never_ lacked confidence in our appearance because we'd always been completely comfortable in our own skin, so I knew this really had to be bothering him.

I lifted my hands towards his bandaged head, my eyes on his, asking permission, and he nodded. I tugged gently on the end of the thin, white material, and unwound the coverings until they fell away completely. Then I stepped to the side to better see the wound.

He was right, there _was_ a gaping hole there. "Well. Your ear is definitely gone," I said, and I didn't miss the way George stiffened, looking strangely vulnerable and uncomfortable under my appraising study of him. "I dunno though," I said, my voice suddenly lighter because, if I knew anything, I knew my twin. Quite convenient, knowing exactly how George's brain worked, because that meant I always knew just the thing he needed to hear. "It still looks pretty wicked to me. I reckon you should leave the bandages off. Keep it uncovered."

George cut his eyes over at me. "Yeah?"

"I would if I were you," I said, nodding seriously. "I'm a bit jealous, to be honest. Girls love a bloke with a scar, don't they?"

One corner of George's mouth twitched and I knew I'd said the right thing.

"I'm worried I might actually have to up my game when I'm standing next to you now," I went on, looking and sounding like I was irritated in thinking that my once-identical twin might now have an advantage over me in the sex-appeal department and that I was gonna have to work harder to keep up with him because of it. I reached up and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a firm shove. "Tosser."

He cracked a grin as he steadied himself, and then shoved me right back. "Come on," he said, flipping his collar down over his tie. "Let's go before mum sends out a search party." And he walked out of the room, leaving the bandages behind.

xx

As soon as we arrived at The Burrow, our mum put us to work readying the garden for dinner. Charlie and Ron were already setting up the table and chairs, so George and I went about decorating the place to make it more festive.

We hung a "Happy Birthday" banner from the limbs of the nearby crabapple tree and then started charming paper lanterns of deep purple to float above the heads of the guests, their light casting a warm, golden glow over the twilit garden.

"Those are quite nice," came a cool, quiet voice beside me and I smiled, turning to find Hermione standing there, studying the lanterns.

"Evening, Granger," I said, sounding pleased. Hermione was a bit reserved with her compliments, but that just made them all the more gratifying when she actually offered one.

She turned her face to look at mine, smiling back. "Hi, Fred."

She lifted her wand, took aim at the closest shrub, and streamers of purple and gold burst forth from the tip, draping themselves over the leafy branches.

I watched her then as she made her way around the garden, adorning the trees and bushes with the long, colorful ribbons, only stopping when she reached the crabapple tree where the banner hung. With one final flick of her wrist, she turned all the leaves to a gold so polished that they reflected the glow from our lanterns like pure glass, scattering a thousand little bursts of soft light onto the grass and onto our faces.

"Alright, Granger," George said, his face and eyes now dappled with flecks of the golden light. "Now you're just showing off." But then his expression gave way to a warm smile and he winked at her. She responded with a beaming smile of her own.

Once the decorating had been seen to, mum sent George and I down the lane to welcome the guests as they arrived. I couldn't figure out why the woman chose _us_ to act as the welcoming committee, considering how rarely we behaved ourselves, but I guessed she figured it was just Hagrid and Tonks and Lupin, all of whom had plenty of experience with our "nonsense" as mum would call it. Or maybe it was just that, given all the protective barriers around the place, our guests were forced to arrive outside the safe little bubble surrounding the house and, _because_ of our nonsense, George and I were the most easily expendable.

Either way, George and I didn't care. So we set off down the dark road on our own to await the dinner guests.

Hagrid arrived first, wearing a hairy, brown suit that smelled vaguely of whatever creature it'd been made out of.

"'Ello, Fred! George!" he said, in a greeting so cheerful that I thought he must've started the party early and had a bit to drink back home already, and he clapped both George and myself on the back, nearly knocking us into each other, before he caught sight of Charlie and rushed off to talk with him.

Tonks and Lupin arrived shortly after, with our dad following behind just a few seconds later.

"Remus," my dad said, jerking his head slightly in an indication that he wanted a word. "I'm glad you're here." He sounded serious and, when Lupin reached his side, my dad shot a meaningful look back to Tonks and George and me.

Tonks rolled her eyes. "I guess that's our cue, boys."

George shrugged. "Their loss," he said, and then he turned back to Lupin. "We're stealing your beautiful wife, Lupin."

"Yes, yes," Lupin said, simply waving us on with his hand. "Go ahead."

Permission granted, George held out his arm, offering it to Tonks. She happily accepted it, beaming at him. No, not just beaming. She was absolutely radiant.

And so obviously pregnant.

Lupin's recent case of the grumpies only proved it. The poor bloke was clearly terrified.

George and I had worked it out on our own and now had a running bet going on how much longer it would be before they finally let the cat out of the bag.

Taking up Tonks' other arm, the three of us began a leisurely walk back down the lane. But, as George struck up a friendly conversation with Tonks–clearly resuming his usual air of confidence in spite of the missing ear–I kept my head turned slightly, focusing my attention back to the conversation taking place between my dad and Lupin.

Over the sounds of our footsteps and the laughter of my two companions, it was difficult to make out most of what was being said in hushed voices between the two men left standing several paces behind us.

Still, my ears picked out four words, and those were enough. Enough to let me know that my anonymous letter to The Minister hadn't been ignored completely. Enough to let me release the breath I'd been holding, even as my pulse began to quicken.

"...attack on the ministry," I heard my dad say, and his expression was worried but not quite panicked, telling me that it hadn't happened yet, but that they knew it was coming.

XxX

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**Author's Note:** I feel like this chapter is a wee bit fluffy, with not a lot going on to further the plot but... occasional fluff is fun, isn't it? (I hope y'all think so, anyway! Maybe I'm just weird about the twins - I think I could write about them shopping for socks or something and still have fun with it. But that might be because I adore them beyond what is probably normal and/or healthy... haha) Having said that, I'm looking forward to sharing the next chapter. I think it's a fun one ;)

Thanks as always for the lovely reviews and favs and follows. It seriously makes my day to know that people are enjoying what I'm writing! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I hope you all are doing well this week :)

I still own nothing HP-related.

* * *

XxX  
**Chapter Four**

The day of Bill and Fleur's wedding was hectic and it passed in a blur of chairs and white linens and floral arrangements that all had to be placed perfectly according to the bride's finicky specifications.

"That's it," George said, as he and I finished setting up the last row of chairs, complete with fussy fabric coverings. "I'm never getting married. Too much work."

I was tempted to agree. "We'll just have to elope," I said to him as we passed through the tent's opening to take up our posts just outside. Ron and Harry (disguised as Barny, a long-lost Weasley cousin) were already standing there, waiting to greet and escort the wedding guests who were due to begin arriving at any moment.

"Who's eloping?" Ron asked, catching the end of our conversation. His tone was polite, his eyes wide and slightly-vacant looking, eager to join in. Bless.

I almost felt bad for always giving him a hard time.

Almost.

But he just made it so easy.

Fixing a serious expression on my face, I draped an arm over George's shoulders. "I said 'we' didn't I?"

Ron's widened eyes slowly narrowed. "You and–" he paused and I watched as he glanced back and forth between George's ears and mine, the only way he could tell which of us was which, "–George," he said finally. "You and George are eloping." His tone was dry now and he was frowning in annoyance, everything right in the world once again.

"Yep," I said. "You caught us."

Ron rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. Served him right for trying to jump in on a conversation he hadn't been invited to join. "I don't know why I bother with you two."

"S'just a shame you had to find out this way," George said lightly, ignoring him. "We were planning a big, elaborate announcement to the family." He turned to me, flashing a bright grin. "Weren't we, handsome?"

I grinned back, both to continue our torture of Ron and because my identical twin calling me handsome was incredibly narcissistic of him. Not that he was incorrect.. "That's right, gorgeous."

When I glanced back at Ron, his mouth was hanging open, a completely horrified look on his face.

"Ron," I said on a disbelieving laugh. I knew he could be an idiot sometimes but _surely_ he didn't actually think–

"In all my years–" came a voice from behind George and me, female and distinctly creaky with old age and absolutely dripping with disgust, and our smiles fell immediately. "Never have I ever heard such _filth_!"

Wonderful. I removed my arm from where it had still been casually embracing George, and the two of us spun around to face our first wedding guest.

"Aunt Muriel," we said, greeting her in unison with subdued voices to show just how delighted we were to see her. (Which was _not very_.)

"You boys ought to be ashamed! Imagine if someone else overheard that–that–obscenity..." She trailed off, huffing and puffing, too offended for words. She overcame it quickly, unfortunately. "Despicable. I always said that Molly and Arthur were too easy on you two. I should bend you both over my knee right now and give you the good walloping that you evidently never received from your parents!"

I raised an eyebrow. The woman was ancient and frail-looking and, while her ranting about how appallingly unwholesome my twin and I were was a bit annoying, her misguided belief that she could overpower us for a spanking was a rather amusing thought. I tuned out the shrill voice and turned my head to look at George. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying his best not to laugh in Aunt Muriel's face.

But because the scolding was growing wearisome and the old lady showed no signs of shutting up, I turned back to face her. "_It was a joke_," I said, and then I resumed my earlier close-proximity to my twin, leaning into him and casually resting my elbow on his shoulder just to make her squirm. "You might want to try it sometime."

Her eyes widened slightly, looking completely scandalized but, sensing that her words weren't having the desired effect on us, she just pursed her lips and turned her attention to Ron.

"Ronald Weasley."

He actually jumped. "Y-yes?"

"This is your brother's wedding. You could have at least had the decency to use a comb on that mop of hair."

Ron's entire face went a bright shade of red that contrasted terribly with said mop.

And then Aunt Muriel spotted Harry. "And who're you?" she asked, looking down her nose at him.

"Oh," he said, swallowing nervously. "I'm Barny." He extended a hand for Aunt Muriel to shake. She regarded it for several awkward seconds before reluctantly offering just the tips of her fingers to him.

"Barny's a distant relation," Ron piped in, trying to be helpful, and Aunt Muriel raised an eyebrow.

"Erm," Harry began, shooting Ron a look. "Very distant. You wouldn't know me. I hardly know anyone here, actually."

"Yes," she said, her face firmly set in a look of disdain. "It's clear you didn't get your looks from _my_ side of the family, at any rate." She raised her chin and sniffed, all haughty and self-important, then said, "Well, come along, Barny," to the surprise of us all. "You can escort me to my seat."

"Right," he said, trying unsuccessfully to hide his distress. "Sure."

He offered her his arm but she merely turned her nose up at it and strolled towards the tent, forcing him to follow. He cast a pleading glance back at us, right as Hermione came hurrying through the tent's opening, and the two ran smack into each other.

"Oof."

The air left both their lungs on impact and Harry's hands instinctively flew up to Hermione's arms to check that she was okay.

"Sorry," he said to her, but then noticed Aunt Muriel staring at him and he seemed to suddenly remember that he was pretending not to know anyone so he dropped his hands to his sides. "Sorry," he mumbled again to Hermione and then he side-stepped around her.

"It's a shame," Aunt Muriel remarked loudly, raising her voice so that it would carry to Hermione who was now walking towards Ron and George and me. "The indecency of today's young girls. Why, if I'd had the gall to leave the house wearing any of these skimpy little numbers that society deems fashionable these days, my mother would've had me locked away." And with that, the pleasant woman turned and disappeared inside the tent.

"Merlin, I wish she had," George said and Ron and I grumbled in agreement.

"Who was that?" Hermione asked, quickening her last few steps to reach us. She gave a breathy laugh like she wasn't at all bothered, but her cheeks were pink with embarrassment at the older woman's insulting comment.

"That was our charming Aunt Muriel," George said.

Ron shuddered. "Crotchety old bag."

"Yeah. Don't listen to her, Granger," I said. "You look amazing." And she did, with hair that had been sleeked down and a gorgeous little purple dress that hugged some curves while hiding others, leaving just enough to the imagination...

Not that I was imagining.

Her blush deepened at my words. "Thanks, Fred."

I offered her a warm smile and, dropping my elbow from George's shoulder, I moved to stand beside her, offering my arm as well. "May I escort you to your seat?"

A pretty little grin blossomed on her painted lips as she gazed down at my arm, and she looped her own through the crook of my elbow. "Thank you," she said, glancing back up at my face. "That's very sweet of you."

"Oi. I would've offered," Ron said, sounding offended that Hermione wasn't praising him. "I just thought we were supposed to be escorting the _real_ guests," he went on. "You're living here right now–hell, you helped decorate the place–so you don't really count, do you?"

Hermione's smile vanished. "Gee, thanks, Ronald."

Ron's mouth opened and closed a few times, giving him the distinct impression of a fish. "That's not what I... I just meant..." He floundered pathetically, unable to put a complete sentence together in his defense.

"Ron," George said, shaking his head sadly at our little brother. "Stop talking. You'll only make it worse. Now," he clapped Ron on the back and nodded towards the elderly witch now approaching us. "Why don't you make yourself useful and show the adorable little old lady to her seat?"

Ron huffed a frustrated breath, but did as he was asked. He took a step forward and smiled kindly at the old woman, giving her his arm and steering her gently towards the tent.

"Poor Ronniekins," George said in a pitying voice as soon as Ron was out of earshot. "I'm not sure he even knows how to think things through before he opens his mouth."

"Yeah," I agreed, and then turned to Hermione to add, "I'm sure that all sounded so much better to him in his head."

She cracked a smile. "I know."

Looking down at her then, I noticed for the first time that she was quite a bit taller than usual, the top of her head actually coming up a couple of inches above my shoulder. I tilted my head to the side, my gaze traveling down the expanse of her pale, slender legs. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes to focus on her feet, encased in a pair of nude-colored shoes with heels at least two inches high.

Then her feet began to shuffle, the weight shifting from the right to the left, fidgeting under my stare, and I snapped my gaze back up to her face.

My own felt a little warm.

"Come on," I said, fixing an easy smile in place and jerking my head towards the entrance of the tent. "Let's get you seated. Those shoes can't be comfortable."

She laughed, her body visibly relaxing. "They're killing me, actually."

So I led her into the tent and down the center aisle, maneuvering around Harry and Ron as they made their way back outside to bring in more guests.

"The best seats in the house," I said, stopping when we reached the row of chairs second from the front on the groom's side.

Hermione glanced up at me, her gaze cautious-bordering-on-nervous. "I'm not sure whether I should feel worried or honored," she said, clearly afraid that she was being set up for a prank. And, really, who could blame her?

My only response was a smirk as I pulled back just enough to untangle our arms. She shot me a look that said _I-don't-trust-that-smile-Fred-Weasley_ just as plainly as if she'd spoken it aloud, but when I held my hand out to her, she still took it, using it to steady herself as she inched her way down the row to her seat.

"Careful," I said, watching the dangerous dance of heels around protruding chair legs.

When she was safely seated, I loosened my grip and she removed her hand from mine, folding it with the other in her lap. "Fred," she said, her tone and expression serious. "Why are these the best seats in the house?"

I placed a hand to my heart and staggered back a step, wounded. "Granger. What have I ever done to make you distrust me like this?"

Her expression was deadpan. "Fred Weasley, I wouldn't even know where to start."

My mouth stretched into a wide, proud grin. "Fair enough." But because I didn't want her to be nervous throughout the entire wedding ceremony, I took pity on her. "Look," I said, leaning down to her level like I was about to tell her a secret I didn't want anyone else to hear. "Those two chairs?" I pointed to the two on the front row, directly in front of her own. "Those are mine and George's seats." She looked away from the two chairs before her and back to my face, waiting for me to explain why this mattered. "You get to stare at me the whole time."

One corner of her mouth quirked up as she fought back a smile. "Best seats in the house," she repeated, slowly shaking her head at me. "You know, Fred, we really ought to do something about your low self-esteem."

"Yeah," I said, nodding seriously. "It's sad, isn't it?"

"Absolutely tragic," she agreed.

With Hermione settled in her seat and more and more guests starting to trickle in, I took my leave of her and made my way back down the aisle to assist in escorting the others in.

I passed George on the way. He had a stunning girl on each arm, both of them giggling and both with hair so blonde it was almost silver. Ah, the greatest benefit of having a Veela marry into the family: Veela relatives. George's eyes met mine as we passed each other and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. I took another appreciative glance at the girls on his arms and then gave him a smirk of approval.

Twenty minutes later, the guests had all arrived and George, Ron, Harry and myself headed for our own seats. My eyes caught Hermione's just before I sat down.

"Enjoy your view, Granger," I said. And then I winked at her and turned around to face the front.

xx

The ceremony was enjoyable enough as far as weddings went but, from the moment the thing started and I was forced to sit still and keep quiet, my thoughts began to drift to other, less pleasant things. I couldn't help feeling on-edge. It was nearing a week since my conversation with Snape outside Malfoy Manor and the anticipation of the attack on The Ministry was starting to get to me, winding me up more and more as each new day came and went without anything actually happening. It was good, of course, this delay. Hopefully it had given The Ministry adequate time to prepare. But the waiting, the doing nothing, that was becoming excruciating.

George bumped his knee into mine and when I looked over to him, he glanced meaningfully down at my leg. It was bouncing anxiously. I hadn't even noticed.

I stilled myself and George smiled. I knew he must've assumed that I was simply getting bored and antsy and eager for the ministry official–currently droning on about oneness and the magical bond of matrimony–to start wrapping things up.

Just as this thought crossed my mind, the man pronounced Bill and Fleur husband and wife and instructed them to kiss.

The ceremony ended with applause and cheers from the guests (and lots of sniffling from several of the females in attendance) and when all was said and done, the guests began to rise and mingle while the chairs were magicked out of the way to make room for dancing.

I shook my head, trying to let go of my fearful thoughts so that I could enjoy the party.

I could feel George's gaze on me, but he regarded me only for a few seconds before he disappeared to the other side of the tent.

I lost sight of him in the crowd, but he returned just a moment later carrying two tall flutes of the fancy champagne Fleur's parents had supplied for the evening.

"Here," he said, holding one out to me. "You look like you could use this."

I gratefully accepted. "Cheers." And I downed the entire glass. When I lowered it, I found George watching me carefully.

"You alright?" he asked.

From the way he was looking at me, I knew he could tell something was off, so an outright denial on my part would've only sent up a red flag and led to even more questions I couldn't answer. "Long day," I said. "You're right. Weddings are too much work."

George's eyes searched my face a moment longer but he must've decided my answer was acceptable because he nodded in agreement and took a sip of his drink. "Fortunately, brother mine," he said, now gazing off into the crowd, "I think I see something that will make you feel _so_ much better. Look."

My curiosity piqued, I followed his gaze across the floor–now full of dancing couples–to a place on the far side of the tent where the two gorgeous blondes he escorted earlier were now standing, eyeing us in a way that immediately quickened my heart rate.

Picking up on my reaction, George grinned and jerked his head in their direction. "Come on, then."

As we made our approach, I watched the girls turn to each other, covering their mouths to hide whatever words they were so excitedly whispering–a bit silly, really, considering they were probably speaking French and Georgie and I wouldn't have had a clue what they were saying anyway–but the hands over their mouths did nothing to hide the giddy sparkling in their eyes.

"'Ello again, George," one of the girls said in a thick French accent the moment we reached them. They'd both dropped their hands to their sides and turned to face us rather than each other, pretending not to have been whispering and giggling over us just a second earlier.

"Hello again, Astrid," George said. "Josette," he added, greeting the second girl. And then he turned to look at me. "Ladies, let me introduce you to my twin."

"Fred," I said, flashing my most charming smile before taking each girl's hand and planting a chivalrous kiss there. "It's a pleasure, ladies."

Fate must have been working in my favor because, at that moment, an overly-enthusiastic dancer spun beyond the designated confines of the dance floor and bumped into George, forcing him into Astrid's personal space. She didn't appear to mind one bit.

"It's a bit crowded in here," George said with an easy, unassuming smile, the innocence of it contrasting with the suddenly sensual tone of his voice, smooth and gravelly all at the same time. "Why don't we go somewhere a little quieter?"

He was good, the slick git, and as soon as we'd ducked out of the tent and away from the eyes of the other guests, Astrid and Josette had us each by the hand, dragging us towards the small, darkened orchard just in the distance.

When we reached the edge of the trees, George slowed his steps and came to a halt, earning a confused and disappointed look from Astrid.

"Go ahead, love," he said, gentle and reassuring. "I'll be right there. Just need a word with Fred." She seemed reluctant to part but George graced her with another easy smile and this was seemingly enough to appease her because she giggled then and let go of George's hand.

I nodded at Josette, telling her to follow Astrid.

George and I stood in place, watching them go, and George lifted a hand, wiggling his fingers in a sappy little wave to Astrid. "Just don't go too far," he called after them in a teasing way, and the sound of their giggling came floating back to us.

As soon as they disappeared under the shadows of the trees, George turned back to me, devious smirk firmly in place and, softly so that his voice wouldn't carry, he said, "Bet I can get snogged before you."

"Oh yeah?" I asked, laughing. "And do you care to make a bet on that, brother?"

"Only if you're sure you don't mind losing."

I mirrored his wicked grin perfectly. "What are the wages?"

"Hmm," George hummed, considering this. We'd stopped betting in money ages ago. With our shop doing so well, we had more galleons than we even knew what to do with, so we liked making our bets a bit more interesting these days. George's eyes lit up. "Loser has to run out onto the middle of the dance floor, yank down their trousers, and start pulling flowers out their arse."

I gave a nostalgic sigh. "Ahh, Uncle Bilius. He sure knew how to liven up a wedding, didn't he?"

One of the girls called out to us from somewhere within the orchard, and George looked to me with both eyebrows raised, asking me if I was in.

I reached for George's tie, taking the silky material in my fingers and straightening the knot for him. Then I gave him an affection pat on the cheek. "Oh, you're on, Georgie."

It was mostly dark within the orchard, only small patches of light from the three-quarter moon breaking through the treetops laden with summer leaves, but Astrid and Josette were easy to find. They were huddled close together just inside the line of trees, and the little bit of moonlight that reached them reflected in their silver hair, giving them an ethereal glow.

George took Astrid by the hand once again, backing her slowly and gently towards a tree and, just a few feet away, I did the same with Josette.

I could see George out of the corner of my eye, his forearm now braced against the tree trunk above Astrid's head as he hovered over her. The _fast_, slick git. I turned my head to sneak a full look, sizing up my competition, and saw George use his thumb to brush a stray lock of hair back from the girl's face. He was saying something to her and, though his low voice was muffled by the short distance between us, I knew it must've been something charming, judging by her soft, musical laugh that followed.

Not particularly eager to expose myself to all the wedding guests, I shifted my focus to the pretty girl in front of me.

"Hello, there," I said, all soft smiles and warm eyes.

She smiled back and did this slow bat of her lashes that actually had me reaching up and running a finger between my neck and my collar, my tie suddenly feeling too warm and restricting. "'Ello, Fred."

Sweet Merlin, Veela girls were intoxicating.

My head was swimming a little and I took a deep breath to steady myself. "You're stunning," I said, as if she wasn't already well aware. Still, her smile grew because, like any other girl on the planet, she never grew tired of hearing it. "You do know it's bad manners to outshine the bride on her wedding day, don't you?" I dipped my face even closer to hers and lowered my voice, enunciating each wickedly suggestive word as I looked her straight in her blue eyes and said, "You are a very naughty girl, Josette."

And then her hands were on the back of my head, fingertips digging into my scalp, pulling me down to her for the single-most frantic snog I'd ever had in my entire life. And that was actually saying something.

Oh. The bet!

I opened my eyes mid-snog but found that I couldn't see George from this angle, so I moved my hands to the girl's waist, spinning us around so that I could face my twin and show him that he'd lost the bet. Only, George was already being snogged as well.

His eyes popped open then, apparently also having suddenly remembered our wager and, around the Veela girls' heads, our gazes met. George's hair was tousled and his cheeks a bit flushed.

I imagined I looked much the same.

Astrid detached herself from George's mouth and moved down to place kisses against his jawbone. The brief flutter of his eyelashes notwithstanding, he managed to keep himself surprisingly composed.

"Who won?" he mouthed to me.

I turned my head slightly, pressing kisses to Josette's cheek so that my mouth was freer to communicate with George. Josette took this opportunity to nibble at my ear, and an involuntary shudder shot through me. I quickly regained control of myself and shook my head at George, the action so subtle that the girl now planting kisses at my temple didn't notice it.

"No idea," I mouthed back.

Josette returned her attention to my ear, this time biting down a bit harder than I really appreciated, and I yelped. Much to George's delight. He turned his face, burying it in Astrid's hair, and I knew he was trying to stifle a laugh at my expense. I could see it in his eyes, still watching me and now sparkling with barely-contained amusement.

I made a mental note to slip some U-No-Poo into his morning tea.

I narrowed my eyes at him to show my displeasure but he simply rolled his in response, clearly unconcerned, and turned his attention back to the girl currently attempting to snog him for all he was worth.

I refocused my own efforts back to Josette, bringing my mouth down to hers and nipping her bottom lip in payback for my ear.

And then an unpleasant tingle began in my left forearm, the too-familiar sensation growing stronger and radiating out until, unable to ignore the discomfort, I tore my mouth away from Josette's. My breath came in short, sharp bursts as I tried to suck oxygen into my lungs, something that Josette mistakenly took as a signal that I was getting worked up, and she grabbed me and pulled me to her, attempting to kiss me again.

I turned my head to the side, denying her.

I was being summoned and I _had_ to go. I knew if I missed another meeting, if I showed up hours late like I had the night we moved Harry to The Burrow, Voldemort would make sure I regretted it.

"I'm sorry," I said, straightening up and pulling away from Josette. "I–" I paused, racking my brain for a believable lie. I couldn't exactly tell her I'd suddenly remembered a previous engagement. We were at my brother's wedding; where else could I possibly have to be? I ran a hand over my face, sighing. "I just can't do this," I said at last.

"Pardon moi?"

"I'm really sorry, Josette," I said again. She was so beautiful, especially now that she looked so thoroughly kissed, but there was no denying the rejection I saw in her eyes as they searched my own. "It's not you," I assured her. "It's me." And then I cringed because, really, that was a terrible line and I was a little ashamed of myself for using it.

Still, it proved useful as I watched Josette's pain flare suddenly into anger. Probably for the best, as it would make this go faster...

"'Ow dare you!" She eyed me up and down like I was the world's biggest creep. "I am not a plaything!"

I wanted to assure her it wasn't like that. Well, maybe it was a _little_ like that. We'd only known each other for ten minutes after all and we were simply having a quick, casual snog outside my brother's wedding. It's not like we were serious, by any means. But I didn't want her thinking that I was just a selfish arse intent on hurting her.

But, frankly, I didn't have time to make her feel better about it.

"You're right," I said, and I took a step back, allowing her plenty of room to leave.

Her expression darkened and, whether or not it was some trick of the moonlight, her silver-blonde hair seemed to be moving of its own volition, like tentacles ready to strike at an enemy. I might've even been afraid if I didn't know there was a much more terrifying Dark Lord summoning me to him.

"I'm sorry," I said again, taking another few steps back, hoping she would take the hint and leave already.

"You're sorry," she repeated and, still fuming, she shoved herself away from the tree we'd been leaning against. "Well that eez just wonderful. Enjoy your night!" But she spat the words at me in a way that suggested she really didn't want me to enjoy it at all.

I could feel eyes on me and I turned to find George and Astrid staring. Astrid, looking like she'd love nothing more than to rip my head off, ran off after Josette who'd made a beeline out of the orchard.

George just sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets, making his way towards me.

For a split second, I considered walking off before he could get to me. I didn't have the time to explain what just happened with Josette or to come up with an excuse for why I suddenly needed to leave and, as always, the notion of lying to George's face _yet again_ made everything inside me feel sick.

But if I did that, left without a word, especially as he was walking right towards me, I'd just have to explain myself to him later. And that conversation would probably be even more difficult.

So I stood my ground, shoving my hands in my pockets to mirror my twin.

"What happened?" he asked when he reached me.

I shrugged, trying to ignore the tingle in my arm. "Dunno. I wasn't really into it, I guess. Suppose she picked up on that."

George frowned–it wasn't like me to not be interested in a pretty girl, especially when that pretty girl was enthusiastically snogging me–but he said nothing else about it.

"Come on," I said. "Let's head back."

I hoped that, by being back in the loud, bustling crowd of wedding guests, George would get lured into a conversation with others and then I could slip away unnoticed.

We made our way back in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

Just as we approached the tent, a great ball of blue light came streaking across the sky above us, passing through the white, fabric ceiling of the marquee, and disappearing somewhere inside. The people gathered there let out a collective gasp, and the music that had been playing came to a sudden halt.

Now frozen where we stood, George and I turned to look at each other.

"Scrimgeour is dead." Kingsley's deep, booming voice came resonating out to us. "The ministry has fallen..."

If he said anything more after that, I couldn't hear it over the chaos that followed. The guests were starting to panic, calling out for their loved ones, and then there came the first loud crack of apparition. The protective wards had been broken.

Several more pops and cracks, and then everyone was screaming.

We had visitors.

Not bothering to make for the entrance on the other side of the tent, George withdrew his wand and, with a flick of his wrist, put a slit in the material. He then grabbed it, tearing it open with his hands, ripping it until the gap was big enough for us to get through.

We stood there for a moment, our minds struggling to register what our eyes were seeing. There were Death Eaters everywhere and blinding flashes of light and people running, some were fighting, others apparating out, hoping to put off death for just a little while longer.

"There's mum and dad," George said, relief evident in his voice when he saw our parents, standing side-by-side and holding their own in a battle against two figures in black cloaks. "But where's Ginny?"

I craned my neck, searching for any sign of bright red hair, but it was impossible to find her in the madness. I shook my head. "I don't know. I can't see her."

George's jaw tightened. "I'm going to find her."

I swallowed, not wanting him to go, not wanting him to risk it. Alright, maybe I was a selfish arse.

Under other circumstances, I would've just rushed in with him, but my brain was currently scrambling to come up with a plan and I was pretty sure that running into that tent where both friend and foe would see me, both groups thinking I was with on their side, wasn't a great option.

George had already ducked inside, not waiting for me to follow.

"George?" I called after him and he stopped and turned around. "Be careful."

He nodded. "Yeah. You too." And then he turned and darted off into the crowd to find our sister.

I lingered outside the tent, keeping myself out of sight for the time being.

What the bloody hell was I supposed to do?

I should've been in there with my wand drawn, ready to fight to protect my family. But if I made that choice, if I went down that path, everything I'd done the last several months to secure my place in Voldemort's circle would all be shot to hell. It would be over. No more trying to take him down from within by feeding him false leads. No more sneaking valuable information to The Order.

Though, a fat lot of good that had done. The Ministry knew about the attack, and still they had fallen. Whatever they'd done to prepare, it hadn't been enough, and I felt like I'd failed them somehow. I should have done more. Should have made them take the warning more seriously.

But maybe there was nothing else they could have done. Maybe Voldemort was just too strong now.

And when word reached him that I'd betrayed him when it came down to it, that I'd killed people in his inner-most circle to protect my family of blood-traitors, Voldemort would send his minions to hunt down every last person I cared about as punishment.

I let out a particularly strong swear, the breath that carried it sounding far shakier than I would've liked it to. But, whatever the nervous pounding of my heart might suggest, my mind was made up. I couldn't just stand by while the lives of everyone I loved were at stake.

Tightening my grip on my wand, I stepped into the tent.

Only for a hand to reach out and grab me by the arm from behind, roughly yanking me back outside.

The fingertips dug deeper into my bicep. "And just what do you think you're doing?" a familiar, cruel voice hissed at me.

I jerked free of the hand and turned to face Bellatrix. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I snapped back at her. "I'm going in there to fight."

"For which side, I wonder," she said, her malice-filled smile revealing blackened teeth. "But I'm afraid we'll have to test your loyalties another day. I can't let you go in there."

For a second, I was too confused to even speak. "What are you talking about?"

She laughed, the sound loud and deranged. "Not the brightest, are you, little Freddie?" she said. But then, like a switch being flipped, her voice and demeanor turned syrupy sweet. "For reasons that only the Dark Lord knows, he believes that you are useful to him." She reached up, running a long fingernail down from my temple to my jaw and I struggled not to flinch under her touch. "So if you go rushing in there–" she paused, pointing towards the tent with her wand, "–and reveal your true allegiance by helping us slay your filthy family, it would ruin everything."

"You're only useful to him because you can get information from inside The Order," she went on, pushing her bottom lip out in a pout, her voice still still simpering. "What do you imagine Lord Voldemort would do if you returned to him tonight and told him you'd gotten yourself banished from The Order?" She tutted, shaking her head sadly at the thought.

We both knew she couldn't care less if I died, (which is precisely what she was implying would happen to me if her beloved dark lord deemed me no longer useful to him), but I knew that she _did_ care about pleasing Voldemort. In fact, that might've been the only thing in the world that mattered to her. So her insistence that I not reveal myself in the fight might have actually been coming from a sincere place.

Bellatrix's mouth stretched into a smile again as I stood there considering her words. "Leave this to us, dearie," she said in whisper, reaching out to pat my chest, and then she strolled past me and into the tent, poised to claim the lives of people I loved.

If the Death Eaters wanted me to steer clear from the fight, that certainly made things easier for me. But it didn't change the fact that my family and friends were all still inside that tent, fighting to stay alive.

I took off at a run, rounding the exterior of the tent until I was at the other side. I was hoping I could sneak in and find George without letting Bellatrix or any of the other Death Eaters spot me. Though that was as far as my plan went. I knew I wouldn't be able to convince George to go back to the flat, not if it meant leaving the rest of our family behind in the middle of a battle.

"Fred!" I spun around and saw George sprinting towards me. He was breathing hard, shaggy locks of ginger hair plastered to the sweat on his brow. "Bloody hell, you scared me. I couldn't find you."

I gave him the biggest smile I could manage under the circumstances. "'Cause I was running around looking for _you_."

He smiled back. "Ginny's fine," he said, his breathing beginning to slow as he allowed himself a moment's rest. "She's with Charlie and Aunt Muriel. Blimey, I wish you could've seen that crazy old bat. Took out three of those bastards with one hex." George laughed, the sound out of place amongst the shouts and furious cracklings of curses being fired just a few feet away inside the tent. "It was brilliant!"

I looked at my twin, at the smile on his face, made no less dim by the danger we were in, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed, in spite of the missing ear that had so recently been cut away from him by one of those men inside. He was still hopeful. In the face of everything going on, he was still _George_, cracking jokes and laughing like he was completely above it all.

And then I was laughing too, the act loosening something that had been wound tight in my chest, providing me with a much-needed release.

"_Stupefy_!" a familiar voice shouted and, just like that, the tight feeling was back.

I saw Hermione just fifteen feet away, battling a Death Eater who had apparently just deflected her stunning spell.

"Bloody hell," I breathed in a harsh whisper. "What's she still doing here?"

"Harry and Ron left her behind," George said, taking aim at the Death Eater. "It wasn't their fault. They couldn't get to her in time. I saw her across the room, screaming at them to go without her. _Expelliarmus_!"

The man's wand flew out of his hand and he turned to us, his face livid as soon as he'd recovered from the shock of being disarmed.

But he never got the chance to pay us back in kind for it.

"_Confringo_!" Hermione's voice came out as a desperate shriek and, when the man went up in flames, screaming in agony, she hid her face behind her hands.

"We've gotta get her out of here," I said. "Everybody knows she's Harry's best friend. If one of these bastards can get close enough, they'll grab her and take her." I glanced around us to make sure we were alone. "George," I said, realizing that this was probably the best chance I'd have to get them both somewhere safe. "Get her to the flat."

"What?" He actually laughed, looking at me like I'd gone insane.

Of course he couldn't make this easy..

"We both know that when they can't find Harry in there, they're going to be looking for her and Ron next," I explained in a rush of air because, really, we didn't have time to be discussing this. "She can't stay here."

"I understand that," George said, not seeming to have a problem with this part of my argument. "We need to get her somewhere safe. Fantastic idea. But you're coming with us."

I shook my head. "One of us has to keep an eye out to make sure nobody sees us leave with her. If they see us sneak her out of here, they'll use our entire family to get to us, to get to her, to get to Harry."

Hermione was still standing there in plain view. Her hands no longer covered her eyes, but she'd lowered them to cover her mouth as she stared down at the man whose life she'd just ended, and my heart ached for her. The Hermione Grangers of the world shouldn't be forced to kill monsters just to stay alive.

"Bookworm!" I shouted as loud as I dared.

I didn't want to call her by her name, because shouting "Hermione Granger!" would've been the equivalent of yelling, "Oi, Death Eaters! Here's the mudblood best friend of Harry Potter!" Fortunately, she responded to the nickname and her head jerked around to look at us.

"Go on," I said to George.

"Forget it, Fred," he said, his tone serious. "I'm not leaving you here."

I moved into him, wrapping a hand around his elbow and staring him straight in the eye, prepared to beg. "I'll be right behind you," I promised. The longer we stood out there arguing, the more we risked all three of our lives. "The second I make sure no one saw you two leave, I'll join you."

I glanced at Hermione again. She was still staring at us, sucking in great lungfuls of air as adrenaline coursed through her small body. Her exposed legs were scraped and streaked with mud, the result of what must've been a hard fall. And then I noticed the cut across her upper arm. It wasn't long but it had to have been pretty deep because there was a steady stream of blood trickling from it, deep crimson against her white skin.

George must've seen the wound at the same moment I did because I heard him inhale sharply and, when he looked back at me, I could see him struggling between the urge to go help our friend and the urge to stay by my side.

"I'll be fine, I swear," I said quickly. "And I'll be _right_ behind you. Thirty seconds, tops."

George's mouth was set in a firm line and his eyes were dark as he looked at me, furious that I was being a stubborn git and forcing him to leave me behind with a host of murderous Death Eaters. But he stepped around me at last, freeing himself from my hold on his arm, and ran to Hermione. He didn't even give her a chance to argue, just immediately gripped her hand in his, and the two popped out of sight.

I counted ten seconds in my head and, realizing I was still alone when the count was up, I breathed a sigh.

There was no one around. Not even a single member of The Order remained outside the tent, having all been drawn to the fight inside. No one had seen George and Granger depart.

They were safe. At least for now. And _now_ was all we had these days.

But my relief was short-lived.

I heard the unmistakable sound of Bellatrix's laughter on the other side of the thin tent wall and my heart jumped up into my throat. How long had she been right there? Had she heard George and me? Did she know that we'd just saved Granger?

I had just enough time to compose and brace myself before a boy came barging out of the tent, running as fast as his short legs would carry him. He was maybe ten years old, too young to apparate alone, and he was being closely pursued by Bellatrix.

When her gaze fell upon me, however, she came to a sudden halt, her laughter dying immediately. At least that told me she hadn't expected to see me.

"What are you still doing here!?" she demanded, closing the gap between us to speak in a harsh whisper. Snape had followed her out and, though he didn't appear to be the slightest bit interested in our conversation, Bellatrix snuck a glance at him before directing her anger back to me. "I told you to go!" she pressed on, her lithe frame seeming to grow with her fury until she was nearly surrounding me with her presence. "How dare you disobey me!"

Her eyes were bugging in their sockets, her nostrils flaring, and I took a small step back.

I knew I had to pick my battles with these people. And I also knew that an enraged Bellatrix was just as deadly as an enraged Voldemort, so I held my hands up in a sign of surrender.

"Forgive me," I said, my voice gentle, submitting to her, and she relaxed just the slightest bit, her body visibly shrinking as she drew back.

Merlin. The unstable hag must've _really_ wanted to make things go smoothly for her precious Dark Lord if she was going this mental trying to keep my cover intact.

"I'm going," I assured her, still backing away slowly, and this seemed to appease her.

"There's a good boy, Freddie," she said, the corners of her mouth now turning up into a smile. "We'll see you back at the manor. After we've cleaned up the rest of this filth."

My stomach twisted at the thought of my brothers and sister and parents still fighting to defend themselves, but I didn't know what else I could do to help them. A wrong move on my part could end up costing them even more.

So I nodded my understanding at Bellatrix, and then turned on the spot and disapparated.

XxX

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**Author's Note**: Wooo, I had fun with that chapter. I always wanted a scene following the twins after they snuck off with a pair of Fleur's cousins at the wedding :P And Hermione! Left behind! With the twins! Are you excited? I hope you're excited. I'm excited!

As always, THANK YOU so much for the favs and follows and most especially for the reviews! :)

To the guest reviewer who said they hope I will write this story all the way to the end, I want to promise you (and everyone else reading) that I will finish this story :) I would never leave y'all hanging like that 'cause I've always hated getting sucked into a fic only for the author to abandon it. (I usually won't even look at a fic until it's complete for that reason. NOT THAT I'M TELLING YOU TO DO THAT! PLEASE LOOK AT MY FICS EVEN WHEN THEY'RE IN-PROGRESS! haha ;)) But seriously, I will always finish my fics for you guys. So if I ever go MIA while one is still in-progress, you will know that I've died :P

I would also like to point out, as implied above, I do accept anonymous reviews! So if you're just too shy to leave a comment with a username attached, please feel free to say hi with an anonymous review! (This applies to kind comments and constructive criticism only. Meanies will be deleted. Not that I have EVER had a problem with that. [Seriously. I haven't.] Because I'm convinced The Weasley Twin fandom is the coolest, nicest bunch around ;))

Xhugs everybodyX


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks sooo much to all the lovely anon reviewers who peeked in to say hello after the last update. I love hearing from y'all!

I hope everyone is well :)

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XxX

**Chapter Five**

"You said thirty seconds," George said at the sound of my arrival as I apparated directly into the living-room of our flat. "That was more than thirty seconds."

Hermione was seated in a chair at the small dining table in the corner and George was kneeling on the floor in front of her, bandaging her arm.

"Sorry, Georgie," I said, crossing the room to them and clapping him on the back. "You know you're the slightly more punctual one in this relationship." I watched as he easily secured the strip of clean fabric to the wound, having plenty of practice after his ear injury.

Hermione, however, didn't seem to be having such an easy time with it. She was biting her bottom lip and, though she remained completely silent, her eyes were so full of tears that they fell onto her cheeks in great, heavy drops each time she blinked.

I put my hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "Alright, Granger?" I asked, even though I knew she wasn't.

She just shook her head, turning her face away so that she wouldn't have to make eye contact with George or me.

"The cut was deep," George said, now rocking back onto his heels and looking up at me. "But I got it closed up nicely. It shouldn't even leave a scar."

"Good." I let my gaze move over him, appraising him. "How about you? Feeling alright?"

"Oh, just dandy."

I crossed my arms, not buying it. "You look like hell."

He pursed his lips, his exhausted attempt at a smirk, but then he huffed a small laugh, confirming my suspicions. "Feel even worse than that, to be honest."

"Go sit down a minute," I said, inclining my head towards the couch in the sitting area just a few feet away.

George nodded. Then, turning to Hermione, he said in a gentle voice, "You've still got a few scrapes and scratches on your legs, Granger. You need to take care of those, alright?"

She sniffled and nodded in response, still not making eye contact with either of us, and George shot me a questioning look. I just shrugged.

So George retreated, taking the few steps across the room to the couch, and then dropped himself rather ungracefully onto it, sinking into the cushions until he was slouched down as far as he could go and still be considered upright. I heard him let out a deep breath, his body relieved to be resting.

I turned back to Hermione and regarded her in silence for a moment, watching as she reached up with the hand of her uninjured arm and roughly wiped the tears from her cheeks.

She made no move to tend the dirty cuts on her knees so, with a light sigh, I grabbed the healing potions George had been using on her arm from the table, and then knelt down on the floor in front of her chair.

I pointed the tip of my wand just above her knee and, with an unspoken _aguamenti_, a gentle stream of water began to flow from the tip, washing the dirt and small debris from the wounds. When they were clean, I unstoppered one of the bottles of healing potion.

"This might sting a little," I told her, but when I squeezed a few drops of the potion onto the first wound, the barely-broken skin instantly knitting itself back together, she made no noise or sign of pain. Not physical pain, anyway.

When all her wounds were tended to, I stayed as I was, looking up at her from where I was kneeled on the floor, but still she didn't acknowledge my presence.

I was more accustomed to a Hermione Granger who butted in with a strong opinion about something or other every few seconds, so I wasn't quite sure how to approach this silent, completely withdrawn one. But then I realized that maybe I didn't need to approach her at all. She'd ended a man's life less than twenty minutes earlier. She'd been defending herself, of course. She'd been defending George and me when the man turned to attack us. But no matter the circumstances, no matter that he hadn't really left her with any other choice, being the reason that another person was no longer breathing was a pretty life-altering thing. And on top of that, she'd just been separated from her two best friends who were now who-knows-where with a whole host of evil lunatics trying to hunt them down and murder them.

All things considered, Hermione might appreciate us giving her a little space.

I rose to my feet, sent the healing potions levitating through the air and down the hall, back to their proper place in the bathroom medicine cabinet, and then I crossed the short distance to the living-room.

"George?" I said, stopping in front of my twin and nudging his shoe with my own to get his attention.

His head was lolled back against the back of the couch, eyes closed, but he opened them at the sound of my voice. "Yeah?"

"I need you to do me a favor."

"Yeah," he said, not even questioning whatever it might be. "Alright."

I was pretty sure Hermione was zoned out in her own little world over there across the room, but I lowered my voice anyway just in case. "I want you to keep an eye on Granger for a little while. Make sure she doesn't try to leave."

George narrowed his eyes. "Why? Where d'you think you're off to?"

"The attack's bound to be over by now, don't you reckon?" I asked, though I already knew it must be. My arm was tingling again. The battle was over and the Death Eaters were being summoned back to Malfoy Manor to report to Voldemort. "I want to check that the others are alright," is what I said aloud. "And we need to let mum and dad know that Hermione is safe and with us but that Harry and Ron have gone."

Placing his hands on the couch cushions, George pushed himself up to his feet until he was standing right in front of me. "I'll go."

I fixed a calm smile on my face. "You said yourself that you feel worse than hell right now," I reminded him. "You lost a lot of blood when you lost your ear, you know. And tonight your body got put through a lot of stress when it's probably still recuperating. S'why you feel so worn out right now. I, on the other hand, feel fine. So it only makes sense that I be the one to go."

George crossed his arms over his chest, his mouth set in a straight line as he stared at me.

"What?" I asked, because I could practically see the wheels turning in his brain.

But he just shook his head. "S'nothing." And then he turned and walked away, crossing the room to join Hermione at the table. Without turning back to look at me he said in a flat voice, "Just hurry back."

xx

I knew that if anyone had been seriously injured, someone in the family would've sent word to us. At least, that's the way I justified it to myself when I decided to report to Malfoy Manor rather than The Burrow first.

When I arrived, I was relieved to find that the others were still trickling in from the fight, so I wasn't risking Voldemort's wrath with my tardiness this time.

Though I soon discovered that being late would apparently have been the very least of my worries..

"There he is," Bellatrix hissed to Voldemort as soon as I stepped foot inside the room, making it clear that she'd been whispering into his ear about me just prior to my arrival. And whatever she'd been saying, I was sure it wasn't anything good. "How dare you show your face here!" She shrieked, suddenly flying towards me. "How dare you come so boldly into Lord Voldemort's presence after you ran away from the fight! You filthy coward!"

"Bellatrix, Bellatrix," Voldemort tutted, his voice calm as he gently chastised her into a momentary silence.

"He ran away from the battle," she said, thankfully at a less-obnoxious volume this time. "He refused to fight his family. Filthy blood traitors, the whole lot of them! I told you we couldn't trust him. Be rid of him, my lord." Her eyes glinted as her gaze moved over me. A predator stalking its prey. "Or allow me the honor of doing it for you."

And then her urgent insistence that I leave The Burrow without fighting earlier made sense. She didn't care if I revealed myself to my family and lost access to information from inside The Order. She just wanted to be able to tell Voldemort that I'd fled. She just wanted to be rid of me because she didn't trust that I was loyal to her beloved Dark Lord.

I couldn't really feel shocked or surprised or even angered by what she was attempting to do, because it's exactly the sort of thing I would expect from her. These people always had an agenda, and it was never an honorable one. But I knew if I wanted to keep up my charade, I should probably act outraged by her accusations.

"I was just following your orders," I said, feigning confusion and indignation that she would accuse me of not being faithful to Voldemort. But she just sneered, the smile saying one thing: it's your word against mine.

"Bellatrix did indeed order the boy to leave," Snape said, now strolling towards us, his words directed at Voldemort. "I overheard it myself. I'm not sure why this has slipped her mind." He turned his gaze to Bellatrix then. "Perhaps we ought to inspect her brain for signs of damage, my lord. She might have been injured in the fight."

If looks alone were enough to kill Severus Snape, Bellatrix would've murdered him right where he stood. But Snape just sneered right back at her, clearly enjoying undermining her in the presence of the Dark Lord.

"Bellatrix causing trouble?" Voldemort said in an amused tone, like he wasn't the slightest bit surprised to hear it, and Bellatrix turned to him with a pouting face, like a little girl who'd just been caught doing something naughty. "I know you do not trust the boy," Voldemort said to her, "but he has been loyal to our cause."

Her gaze darted to me and a look of blind hatred briefly shadowed her features.

I knew Bellatrix felt no love for me–and the feeling was entirely mutual–but I hadn't known until that moment just how much she despised me. But then she glanced back at her master and, under his reprimanding stare, she dropped her gaze to the floor. "Forgive me, my lord. I only live to serve you."

Voldemort just waved her off. "It is no matter," he said, his voice still calm and smooth, a strangely serene smile on his face.

"My lord," Snape said, slow and cautious. "Something seems to have pleased you." But then he trailed off, allowing Voldemort to decide whether to fill the rest of us in or not.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said, apparently inclined to share the good news. "Harry Potter has been discovered in muggle London. Rowle and Dolohov are retrieving him as we speak."

I swallowed thickly, scared for Harry (and for Ron who, unbeknownst to the Death Eaters, was traveling with Harry), but forced a smug, pleased-looking expression onto my face to match the expressions of everyone else in the room. Well. Everyone but Snape, whose face was unreadable.

And when Rowle and Dolohov returned a short while later and neither Harry nor Ron were anywhere in sight, I then had to disguise my relief.

The two men were slightly bruised and battered, obviously having been involved in some sort of altercation, and now as they faced Lord Voldemort empty-handed, they looked scared for their lives.

And rightly so.

"_Crucio_!" Both men hit the floor, writhing in pain under Voldemort's outstretched wand. "You let him escape! Tell me what happened!"

"I don't know, my lord!" one of them screamed. "We can't remember!"

Voldemort lowered his wand and Dolohov and Rowle stopped squirming, though they both still trembled as the pain lingered.

"I remember that we were going to grab Potter and bring him back to you, my lord!" Rowle explained in a quick, pleading voice. "But then we woke up in a cafe in London, everything smashed to bits, and no sign of him!"

Voldemort snarled, his top lip curling over his teeth, but finally he spun around and walked away from the two men left cowering on the floor. He paced back and forth across the room, his steps quick and furious.

"Was Potter alone?" he asked, and his voice was low and lethal. "What of his friends?"

"Friends, my lord?" Rowle asked shakily.

"Yes, you idiot. The youngest Weasley boy and the mudblood girl. Hermione Granger."

"I–" Dolohov began, but stuttered over his words. "I don't know, master. I swear it!"

"Ron is at my parents' home," I offered, hoping to convince them that my little brother wasn't involved in anyway and that it would be pointless to waste time on him. "Saw him with my own eyes. He was there all day setting up for the wedding. And he's been feeling ill the past couple of days as well," I added, knowing that the ghoul from the attic was now covered in spattergroit-like spots, ready and waiting should anyone decide to come looking for Ron. "He definitely didn't look up for going on the run with Potter."

Voldemort didn't look pleased to hear this, clearly hoping that Ron could be used to get to Harry, or that he at least might have some idea of how to find him. "And the mudblood?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, my lord. She was present at the wedding but seems to have disappeared when the attack began."

Voldemort took a deep breath, trying to reign in his anger in order to think more clearly. "You will go to your parents' home," he said to me. "And you will use any means necessary to discover if your brother has had any correspondence with Potter."

I nodded my head, accepting his instructions, and he turned away.

"Dolohov," he said to the dark-haired man now crouching on his knees on the floor. "You will track down Hermione Granger." Dolohov nodded eagerly, realizing that Voldemort wasn't ready to kill him just yet. "Miss Granger may be the key to finding Harry Potter. And if she doesn't know where he is, we can use her to lure him out."

xx

I popped into The Burrow for an extremely brief visit, checking that the rest of the family were all alright and letting them know that Granger was safe, and then I rushed back to the flat.

When I got there, I found George and Hermione still sitting at the table, and I let out a breath of relief at the sight of them; both still where I left them, still safe. George had an empty glass in hand and a bottle of firewhiskey on the table in front of him, while Granger was nursing a cup of tea.

I conjured up a third chair and joined them, grabbing the glass from George's hand and pouring a shot of the firewhiskey for myself. It'd been a long night.

Nobody said anything for a while.

Hermione was still brooding in silence, staring down into her cup, and George, while not quite drunk, was just relaxed enough to be content staring off into space, a slightly glassy look to his eyes.

I cleared my throat. "Granger," I said, Voldemort's words still ringing in my head. "I think you need to lay low here for a while."

At this she looked up and over at me, her eyebrows raised. "I can't stay here," she said, suddenly finding her voice again. "Not with everything going on out there."

"Hermione," I sighed and, with my elbow resting on the tabletop, I brought a hand up and pinched the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Why couldn't anything just be simple? "This is serious."

Her mouth fell open just the slightest bit, offended. "I know this is serious, Fred! That's why I can't stay here. I have to find Harry and Ron."

I dropped my hand, my palm making a thud as it hit the table. "Do you even have any idea where they are?" I asked her, and the way she dropped her gaze from mine confirmed to me that she had no clue. "You know you can't use an owl to find them. You can't use the floo. You shouldn't even use your patronus. Because _everything is being watched_." A deep crease formed between her eyebrows, frustrated because she knew I was right. "So what's the plan then?" I went on, because I had to make her understand. "You just gonna go off alone, popping in on random places where you think they might be until you stumble across them?"

"I don't have a plan yet, Fred," she said, the sharpness of her words indicating that she was growing very cross with me. And that was fine, really. She could be as cross as she wanted, so long as she was somewhere safe while doing it.

"Do you want to guess who Voldemort is looking for right now?" I asked, and when she refused to answer, I answered for her, forcing her to think about it. "You. He's looking for Ron, and he's looking for _you_. Because everyone knows you're Harry's best friend and if he can't find Harry, you're the next best thing because he can use you to get to him."

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her seat, absolutely fuming now. "What happened to letting people make their own choices?" she said, referencing our conversation in the garden outside The Burrow the night I overheard Ron and Harry trying to leave her behind.

"Look. I know this is a difficult concept for you to understand, Granger, but sometimes other people actually _do_ know better than you."

I hadn't meant for it to come out so short and snappish, but it did.

I was tired. And so angry. Not with Hermione, but with Voldemort. With everyone who believed in the twisted things he stood for. With this whole stupid war and what it was costing everyone I cared about. I took a breath, shaking my head at myself and the way I was lecturing Hermione. My, how the tables had turned.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just worried about you." I wished I could tell her what Voldemort had said to Dolohov, explicitly threatening to use her, to hurt her, to lure Harry out. It was the same thing I was telling her already but, maybe if she knew that I'd heard those words directly from the mouth of Voldemort himself, she might be a little more worried about herself too.

Her hand was lying flat on the table and I covered it with my own, forcing her to look at me. "Do you trust me?"

She responded with an annoyed scoff, something that hurt more than I cared to admit. But I supposed "Fred Weasley" wasn't exactly synonymous with the word "trust."

"I'm serious," I said, looking her straight in the eyes in the hopes that she could see I was being sincere. "When it really comes down to it, do you trust me?"

She frowned, but something about her face was softer than it had been a moment before. "Yes," she said. "Of course I do."

"Then please," I said, squeezing her hand, pleading with her. "Please stay put."

She sighed. "So, what? I'm just supposed to live here now?"

"Just until we have a chance to regroup and figure a few things out," I said. "The Burrow isn't safe anymore. And if you don't even know where Harry and Ron are, there's no point rushing off and putting yourself needlessly in danger. Besides, you need a safe place to do whatever it is Harry asked you to do for him anyway, right?" I asked, remembering overhearing him mention something about research and horcruxes.

"Yes..." she said, her tone still hesitant.

"Well you can do that here. You can even have my room. I'll bunk with George." I looked over to him then. He was just sitting back in his chair, observing our exchange with eyebrows raised just the slightest bit, probably wondering why I was trying so hard to keep Hermione there and, more than that, wondering why my fingers were still wrapped around hers.

I pulled my hand back into my lap.

"Yeah," George said, shrugging his consent in response to my last sentence. "Sure."

Hermione stared back and forth between the two of us, chewing on her bottom lip as she considered her options. And then, finally, she huffed. "Fine," she said. "But only until I find out where Harry and Ron are."

I held up my hands, indicating that I wasn't arguing. "Deal."

xx

Hermione retired to my room shortly after, setting herself up with a large stack of books at the small desk there, immediately setting to work on whatever it was she was doing for Harry. So George and I left her to it, holing ourselves up in his room.

It was late anyway and, after that hellish evening, we were both exhausted.

I retreated to the bathroom to brush my teeth while George got ready for bed. It was only after I'd made sure that he was settled under the covers that I turned out the lights and rid myself of my socks and trousers and, lastly, my long-sleeved shirt. I climbed into the bed beside my twin then and, even though the room was completely dark, I immediately hid my left arm under the blankets.

George and I had bunked together on plenty of occasions, which is why I hadn't thought twice about offering to share a bed with him so Hermione could have mine. But I'd somehow failed to consider the mark on my arm and how it might complicate things. I was either gonna have to be up and dressed before George woke every morning, or I was gonna have to start sleeping in long sleeves every night.

On the other side of the bed, George was tossing and turning.

George could usually lay down and be asleep within five seconds of his head hitting the pillow, so I knew that something was on his mind.

I just laid on my back, staring up into the darkness, and waited for him to speak.

"Alright, it's driving me mental," he said a few seconds later.

I smirked at how well I knew him. "What is?"

"You're keeping something from Granger."

"What?" I asked through a laugh.

"Oh, c'mon, Fred. It was written all over your face," he said. "You were trying really hard to convince her to stay. And there was something more you wanted to tell her, but you kept holding back. I could see it."

I swallowed. George and I knowing each other so well was usually brilliant. It was one of my favorite things about being Fred Weasley, actually. But it certainly made things difficult when trying to keep secrets. It was hard to hide from someone who knew how to read you like a book.

I tried to keep my tone light even though I felt anything but. "I honestly don't know what you're talking about, Georgie."

Silence.

And then, "So not just her then. You're keeping something from _me_ as well."

"George," I said, that one simple word heavy with emotion. Because what was I supposed to say? I couldn't exactly tell him that the thing I'd been holding back from Hermione was that Voldemort had practically threatened her life right to my face just a few hours earlier.

Frustrated, George groaned, my inability to answer only confirming that I was definitely keeping something from him. If I didn't come up with something quick, this was going to get really ugly (and potentially really dangerous if George got mixed up in my stupid Death Eater scheme) really fast.

"I–" I said, trying again. And then a lie came to me. It was stupid, and possibly dangerous in other ways, but it was believable, and at least no one's lives would be put at risk by it. When I considered it that way, it was pretty harmless, really...

I took a breath and then said in a rush, "I fancy Granger, alright?"

Another dead silence followed and I held my breath, waiting for George to say something.

And then he was laughing. Not just _laughing_. But laughing so hard that it shook the bed, the metal springs squeaking beneath us.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my wand from the bedside table, casting a _muffliato_ charm in the direction of the door so that Hermione wouldn't hear us.

Good thing too. "What?" George practically shouted when he finally stopped laughing long enough to catch his breath. "Since _when_?"

I draped my right forearm across my face. "Since she showed up tonight in that little dress?" I said in a muffled voice, phrasing it like a question. Merlin. This was probably not one of my better ideas.

Still, at least it distracted George from considering that maybe I was hiding something worse..

"Wow," he said, still chuckling. "Alright. What are you gonna do about it, then?"

"George," I said in a flat, discouraging voice because I could hear the mischievous tone in his. "No. There will be no _doing_ anything about this. Whatever I think of her, I'm sure Granger doesn't fancy me."

"Pffftt." George clearly doubted this. "What's not to fancy?"

I couldn't help laughing at that. "Mm. You do make a good point."

"Course I do," he said. "So is that what happened with Josette tonight? Couldn't get into snogging her because your mind was on Granger?"

I nodded at the darkness. "Yeah. That must've been it."

"Huh," George said, sounding surprised that I was really that into Hermione (as well he should be, seeing as I'd never even thought about her _that way_ until I'd said it just a few minutes earlier.) But it was a sort of pleasant-sounding surprise, probably relieved that my secret was something so simple. "And you freaking out earlier, trying to keep her from taking off after Harry and Ron..." He trailed off, leaving me to clarify.

"If Voldemort catches her, George," I started, but my voice broke as I thought about how Voldemort and his Death Eaters would torture her to bring Harry out of hiding, and I couldn't quite finish the sentence. I might not have really fancied Hermione Granger, but she _was_ my friend, and her life was in danger. "I just want to keep her safe," I said, at last. And that much was true.

XxX

* * *

**Author's Note:**  
Oh, dear. Fred, you silly thing! ;) I know he was panicking a bit because George put him on-the-spot but.. surely he couldn't think lying and telling his twin he has a thing for Hermione WHILE SHE'S STAYING THERE is a wise idea... :P

Also, I wanted to let you guys know ahead of time that there probably won't be an update next week. I'll be out of town on vacation and probably won't have much (if any) time to write. But I'll get chapter six written and up for y'all as soon as I can manage after I get home :)

As always, thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I'm back from vacation and ready to carry on with our regularly scheduled posting :)

I hope you all are well this week!

(And I still own nothing.)

* * *

**XxX**  
**Chapter Six**

The following days passed quietly but quickly with George and I developing products down in our shop and Hermione silently pouring over books in her research for Harry. But with the three of us sharing one flat–and with George now believing me to be carrying a torch for Granger–it didn't take long for things to get awkward.

It started with George talking me up in front of Hermione–just little comments here and there, casually remarking how good I am at this, how skilled I am in that–and since his words just sounded like our usual overly-confident boastings, Granger responded with nothing more than a slightly-raised eyebrow.

But when George realized that a raised eyebrow was the strongest reaction he would get from her while using such a subtle approach, he changed tactics.

It was still pretty early in the morning and I had just gotten out of the shower. I stood in the small bathroom, completely starkers and bent forward slightly at the waist as I rubbed the back of my wet head with a towel.

"Fred!" George's voice called to me from down the hall. "Fred? Come here!"

I leaned closer to the closed bathroom door and called back, "Just a second. Let me just–"

"No, _now_!" George interrupted, his voice sounding urgent. "Hurry!"

Afraid that perhaps Granger had snuck out in the middle of the night to go off in search of Harry and Ron, or maybe that there had been some bad news from The Burrow, my heart started to race.

"Fred!" George shouted again.

I dropped the towel to the floor and snatched my clean boxers off the sink, nearly tripping over my feet as I hastily stepped into them and yanked them up. My hand was already on the doorknob before I remembered the mark on my bare arm and I swore under my breath as I had to take a step back and waste another few seconds shoving my wet arms into the long sleeves of my button-up before I could leave the confines of the bathroom.

Dark Mark concealed, I burst through the door and sprinted down the hall, clad in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a button-up shirt that was left hanging open in my hurry to find out what was going on.

I found George sitting at the kitchen table.

"What is it?" I asked in a near-panicked voice as soon as I reached him. "What's wrong?"

But George was smirking.

It was such a subtle thing, just the slightest curve of one corner of his mouth, but I recognized it for what it was and, when George's gaze flickered past me to settle on something just beyond my right arm, I turned my head slowly in that direction, already with a pretty strong suspicion of what I would find.

Sure enough, Granger was sitting in a chair just a few feet away, cup of tea in her hands, open book in her lap. But her eyes weren't on the page. They were on me, on my dripping wet, half-naked body.

When our gazes met, her eyes went wide and she immediately snapped them back down to the book, her entire face now bright pink.

I turned back to George. He was leaning back in his seat now, his arms crossed behind his head, and when I pursed my lips at him as if to say_ I can't believe you actually just did that_, his smirk just grew into a full-fledged grin, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Did you need something, brother?" I asked in a dry tone.

"I did," he said, nodding seriously. "But it seems to have slipped my mind now." His gaze moved over me, observing my current state of under-dress and the expanse of skin–lean and toned and glistening with water droplets–that he'd so shamelessly had me parade for Granger's benefit, and when our eyes met again, he winked at me.

I shook my head at him, feeling both annoyed and amused by this latest attempt at getting Granger to notice me, (and oh, she had noticed me, alright! noticed much more of me than she probably felt comfortable seeing, actually,) and then I turned around, heading back down the hallway and into my room to finish getting dressed.

xx

An hour later, after George and Hermione had each had a shower and after breakfast had been eaten, I made my way to the front door of the flat, ready to head downstairs to get some work done in the shop. I lingered in the doorway, waiting for George who had just finished the last sip of his morning tea and was magicking the cup through the air and to the sink to wash itself.

Hermione was once again hunched over a book and not paying any attention whatsoever to George or me. In fact, she didn't look me in the eyes or make so much as a peep all throughout breakfast. When I asked her to pass the jam for my toast, she'd just pushed it across the table towards me without lifting her gaze from her plate.

But George was not content with letting her sit there alone, isolated and moody and stewing in her embarrassment.

"Granger," he said, now stopping in front of her chair and looking down at her. "Would you be so kind as to accompany us downstairs for a moment?"

Hermione glanced up at him over the top of her book, everything about her expression questioning why he was asking her to tag along with us.

"We could use your assistance," he explained.

Hermione returned her gaze to the book. "I'm not letting you test products on me, George Weasley."

"No, no," he said, unable to help laughing at that. "Nothing like that, I swear."

Hermione frowned, clearly considering whether or not to comply, but then she shook her head. "I'm a little busy right now. I have to help Harry."

"It won't take long," George assured her. "And besides, you've done nothing but sit around with your nose stuck in a book the entire time you've been here. You need to take a break for your own sanity or you'll be no good to Harry anyway."

There was a second's pause, and then Hermione closed her book. "What do you need, then?"

"Just your intelligent opinion, is all," he said, attempting to flatter her. "We're working on a new line of Wonder Witch products to start selling as soon as things are back to normal and, with Verity no longer working here, it'd be a huge help if we could pick your female brain on a few things." He looked down at her with his blue eyes, big and pleading. "Please?"

Hermione sighed and placed the book on the nearby coffee table. "Oh, alright," she said, standing up. "But only because I need to stretch my legs." George looked ready to celebrate his victory but she held up a finger, cutting him off. "Fifteen minutes is all you get. Then I'm coming back up here to get on with my research."

"Deal," he said, his eyes now glinting with a mischievousness that Granger might've missed, but I certainly didn't.

It was already so obvious what he was doing–trying to keep her in close proximity for my sake (since I fancied her, and all..), and when Hermione strolled past us and out the front door, making for the stairs that would lead her down into our shop, George flashed a goofy grin and gave me a thumbs up.

xx

"Right this way, Miss Granger," George said, ushering her into the testing room tucked away in the back corner of the building. "As I was saying before," he went on, now turning on his heel and walking backwards so that he could continue to face Hermione and me as we made our way across the room, "we're working on some new Wonder Witch products. We've developed a new sort of love potion, one that doesn't have to be ingested, but can be worn as a perfume."

"Does it affect everyone who smells it?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in disapproval. "That seems dangerous."

"It's a much milder potion," I explained. "Not nearly as potent as your typical love potion. The resulting reactions are much less intense."

George nodded. "It doesn't create obsessive infatuation. More like, it inspires admiration."

"No one will be overcome by an all-consuming desire for the wearer, but everyone will be drawn to her," I said. "See the difference?"

Hermione frowned. "It still sounds dangerous. Say you wear it to a party and it attracts a boy who is there with his girlfriend. It's just asking for trouble."

"Granger," George laughed. "You're over-thinking things here."

"Yeah," I agreed. "And, seriously, Granger, this stuff is mild. If a bloke's feelings are so half-hearted that he could be swept away just by a sniff of a potion this weak, that relationship has bigger problems to sort out."

"Exactly," George said. "And again, this isn't a typical love potion. It isn't designed to make others infatuated with you. Think of it more as something to give a little boost to girls who lack confidence in themselves. A little spritz of this and they can go to that party ready to relax and have fun, knowing that everyone they get close to will take an immediate liking to them."

"Just think of all the sweet little wallflowers we'll liberate," I said. "No more standing shyly in the corner, terrified that no one will like them."

"I suppose..." Hermione said, still sounding hesitant.

"And the beautiful thing about it," George went on, "is that, over time, it'll condition that shy little flower to not be afraid! A few positive social interactions thanks to this potion, and the girl will realize she's likable and worthy of attention after all. She won't even need the perfume anymore."

"Well, when you say it like that," Hermione said, her tone slow and thoughtful. "I guess that doesn't sound _so_ bad."

"There, you see!" George said, proud at having somewhat won her over. "Anyway, that's what we need your help with."

We'd stopped in front of the small supply cupboard where we kept some of our rarer ingredients, and now George just smiled down at Hermione with an expectant expression as he awaited her response. I kept silent and watched, not entirely certain where exactly my twin was going with this.

"George," Hermione said dryly. "I already told you that you're not testing products on me. And I'm _certainly_ not trying out a love potion of any sort around either of you."

"As fun as I'm sure that would be, Granger," George said, his eyes twinkling again with amusement, "that's not the part we need help with. The potion is already tested and perfected."

"What do you need me for, then?" she asked and I looked over at George, quirking an eyebrow at him in a nonverbal question of, "Yeah, what the heck are you up to?"

George's grin widened as he caught sight of the look on my face, but he simply cut his eyes back over to Granger. "We just need help creating the perfume part of the potion. You know, selecting and blending the different notes and whatnot. As a lady, I thought you might be better able to help us create a fragrance that ladies would enjoy wearing."

"Oh," she said, looking surprised and relieved that her task would be something so innocent. "Well. Yes, alright. I'd be happy to help with that."

Beaming, George reached behind him and turned the doorknob of the small closet and pushed the door open. He stepped aside then to allow her to pass through and, once she was inside the tiny, dimly-lit cupboard, he gave me a look and a nod, telling me to follow.

I looked from George to the supply closet–and let me stress again that it was _tiny_–and then back to George.

I snorted a laugh. "You can't be serious," I said, low enough that Hermione–now distracted as she peered curiously at all the labeled jars and vials she found on the shelves within–couldn't hear us. "That's a tight fit, Georgie."

"Ah, nonsense," he said, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me into the small room. "We're all friends here."

He crammed himself in behind me and I had to brace myself against a shelf and plant my feet firmly on the floor to keep from being forced into full-body contact with Granger. But then George pushed the door shut behind us, and that freed up enough room to at least allow us all enough space so that we could each stand without touching each other.

But just barely.

I stood closer to George, figuring it would be much less awkward to touch my twin than it would be to touch Granger who was so clearly trying to look unaffected by our sudden closeness, but then George reached around me to grab a vial from a shelf behind us, his arm pressing into my back much more than I was sure was necessary, the action forcing me further into Hermione's personal space.

When George pulled back, vial in hand, I met his gaze, my expression deadpan. _This is ridiculous_, I thought, and I knew he could read it on my face.

But he just waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He was loving this entirely too much.

"Now," he said, holding the vial out to Hermione. "For the base, we were thinking of something woodsy. Deep, but still feminine."

I rolled my eyes. He was so full of it. (We hadn't given a single thought to this perfume, except to decide that we'd just leave it up to Verity whenever she came back to work.)

"But I'm not sure about the mid-notes," George was saying now. "I'm thinking something floral, but I can't decide _what_ yet. Now this–" he nodded at the bottle now in Hermione's hand, "–is black elder flower. What do you think of it?"

Hermione unstoppered the vial and brought it up to her nose, taking a tentative sniff. She made a face, brow furrowed, mouth in a contemplative slant. It wasn't a disgusted expression by any means, but it wasn't entirely pleased either.

"No?" George prompted, and Hermione shook her head.

"It smells..." she paused, taking another whiff. After the second try, she immediately plugged the bottle back up, now resolute in her opinion. "A little too herbal for a perfume."

"Right," George said, taking the bottle back and returning it to its place. "Not that one then. Hmm." He dragged one long finger across the edge of another shelf, searching for something. "Ah, here we are." He picked up a different glass vial and gingerly pressed it into Hermione's open palm. "Night-blooming jasmine."

Hermione grasped the fragile bottle of oil in one hand and gently removed the stopper with the other. Like with the elder flower vial, she lifted this one to her nose and took a careful sniff. Only, this time, her expression melted immediately into one of pleasure. "Mmm."

"Yeah?" George said, grinning as he watched her, and it was clear that, all match-making schemes aside, he was enjoying this. Hermione nodded, smiling back up at him, and I realized that I was enjoying it too.

It wasn't a surprising thought, really. We'd always liked Granger. Sure, she'd given us a hard time in school whenever she caught us misbehaving, but that was part of her appeal. She was stubborn and spirited and opinionated and that meant, in spite of her proclivity to live by the rules, she was never _ever_ boring.

She put a fingertip over the opening of the bottle and turned it upside down, collecting a tiny drop of oil on her skin. She dabbed it first on the inside of her wrist, raising the wrist to her nose to get a sense of the way the jasmine smelled applied to the skin and then, apparently pleased with that, she took another small drop and dabbed it behind her ears.

The tiny room was flooded with the fragrant aroma of jasmine, sweet, but not overly so, and heady in a way that made me feel a bit warm, especially as I watched Hermione close her eyes, tipping her head back just so as she breathed in the scent, and then exhaled it on an audible sigh.

I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Yeah. Definitely getting a bit warm in that cramped room.

I had a thing for girls who smelled good, all sweet and flowery and _girly_, the way I'd always thought they must smell when I was a boy with no romantic experience, still just imagining what it'd be like to get close enough to kiss one... I used to imagine that they always smelled sugary, like lollipops, or vanilla frosting, or like pretty little flower petals that had been warmed by the sun. And even now, with a few girlfriends (and casual snogging partners, a la Josette) behind me, whenever a girl lived up to that particular boyish fantasy, smelling all sweet and girly, it really did something for me.

Suffice it to say, I liked it. A lot.

And George knew that.

I snapped my gaze away from Hermione's blissful face and over to George. He was watching me, gauging my reaction, devilish grin in place because he _knew_ what this was doing to me. Whether I actually fancied Granger or not, the cute girl and the tight quarters and the sudden attack of sweet jasmine on my senses were starting to make me fidgety.

Dammit, George. He was taking this match-maker/cupid business seriously.

He smirked at me and plucked the vial from Hermione's hand, putting the stopper back in place. "Jasmine it is, then. For the top notes, Hermione, what do you think about black currant? Just tart enough to cut through the jasmine and the teakwood."

Hermione nodded earnestly, sniffing the exposed skin of her wrist again. "That sounds lovely, George."

Looking pleased, he turned back to the shelf, returning the vial of jasmine and then making a show of searching for the black currant.

"Oh, dear," he said, pretending to sound disappointed, and I leaned back against the shelf, crossing my arms over my chest, because I now knew exactly what George was doing. "I guess I left it in the testing room." He tsked, playing at scolding himself. "I'll go get it, shall I?"

"Oh, that's alright," Hermione said, clearly not wanting him to go to the trouble. "Don't bother."

"No, no!" George insisted. "It's no bother. I'll just be a tick! I think you'll like this one." And with another wink at me over Granger's head, he darted out of the cupboard, shutting the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, Hermione and I took a step away from each other, now able to maintain a somewhat-respectable distance between our bodies now that George's was no longer taking up extra space.

And then we waited for him to return.

But minutes passed with no sight or sound of him, and the silence between Granger and me started to grow uncomfortable. I wondered if she was really still that embarrassed about seeing me in my boxers earlier–I mean, it's not like I'd been naked, for Merlin's sake–and I wondered if she would ever act normal around me again.

"Well," she said, and she looked me in the eyes just long enough to give me a very quick, very self-conscious smile before her gaze then darted away to look at something, anything, else.

Right. So we were just going to be awkward around each other forever, then.

"I guess George got lost," I said, trying to diffuse the tension.

Hermione laughed, but it was forced and nervous. "Yeah. If he's not coming back, I should really get back upstairs. Lots of reading to do."

I nodded. "Yeah. And I should probably get to work. Time is galleons, you know."

Another uneasy smile and then she stepped past me, nearly scaling the shelves on the opposite wall so as not to brush up against me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she–

Nah. Not even going to finish that thought. It was ridiculous. Just as ridiculous as the idea that I fancied _her_.

She fumbled for the doorknob, turning and pulling it like she was going to open it and walk out. But the door stayed shut.

"Fred.." she said, not turning back around to face me.

"Hmm?"

I heard her sigh. "The door is stuck."

"What?" I said, pushing away from the shelves to join her.

She gave another tug on the handle. "It's stuck," she said again.

Oh, George. You slick, conniving git.

"Here, let me try," I said, reaching around Hermione to grab the doorknob, even though I had no hopes of being able to get it open. I jigged the handle. Sure enough, it was locked.

And now I was standing even closer to Granger than before, the crook of my elbow actually pressed against her waist as I reached around her.

And that bloody jasmine.

I could smell it so strongly now, my face inches away from the the spot just behind her ear where she'd dabbed the oil.

I let go of the doorknob and pulled back, putting distance between Granger and myself once again.

"Did George lock us in?" she asked, turning to me with a deep frown on her face, clearly too concerned about our current predicament to worry about how close together we'd just been standing.

"What?" I laughed like the thought was absurd. "Why would he do that?"

"I–" she dropped her gaze, looking embarrassed, and turned back to face the door. "I don't know. It was a stupid thought," she said, but I knew it wasn't. She drew her wand from her back pocket and took aim at the door. "_Alohamora_."

Nothing.

I could've saved her the trouble and told her that the spell wouldn't do any good, but that would've meant explaining that it wouldn't do any good because I knew George's spellwork was too foolproof, because yes, Granger, George _did_ lock us in here on purpose.

"George?" she called out through the door, but there was no response. She tried a few different spells after that, none of them any more successful than the first.

She was starting to get worked up, frustrated because she couldn't find a spell to set us free. She _really_ didn't like not being good at things, and when she started grumbling angrily under her breath, I approached the door again.

Sighing, I brought a fist up, pounding twice against the wood. "George," I said, but again there was no answer. "_Geoorge_," I called out again in a drawn-out sing-song tone, because I knew that he was there. I could feel him.

There was a pause, and then footsteps. As expected, they sounded too close to the door, no doubt having been stood just outside it since the moment he'd left the cupboard. "Yeah?" he finally called back to us.

Hermione jiggled the door again. "George, what are you doing out there?"

"I'm looking for the black currant oil," he said, like we should've known that already.

"Well stop looking and come help us!" Hermione said. "The door is stuck."

"What?" George's voice was louder and closer now, and it was almost humorous, the way he was feigning innocence.

"Yeah, the door somehow locked itself on your way out." My tone was dry, telling him that I knew he'd done it.

"Oh, wow," he said, sounding puzzled. He jiggled the doorknob. "Yeah, it's jammed alright. Strange. Never done that before, has it?"

I shook my head, trying to keep my face straight. "No, Georgie. It hasn't."

"Well, let's see..." His voice trailed off, and I could clearly picture him standing on the other side of the door, wand pointed at the lock, silently repeating the incantation to unlock it.

There was a heavy, metallic _click_, and the door swung open.

"Strange," George said again, now aiming a smile at me over Hermione. "We'll have to get that fixed."

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "You really should." She lingered for a moment, glancing back and forth between my twin and me, before she finally gave a curt nod. "Right. I'm going back to my reading."

"We'll be down here if you need anything," I said, and George lifted a hand to wave in farewell as she turned and walked away.

As soon as she was gone, George and I turned to each other.

"I had no idea it was possible to be so completely _un_-subtle," I said, reaching out and giving a playful shove to his chest.

He swayed but easily rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, bouncing lightly as he righted himself. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Freddie."

"Right," I said. "So you definitely didn't lure me half-dressed from the bathroom under false pretenses earlier."

George grinned. "False pretenses? I simply requested your presence in the dining-room. It's not my fault that you didn't make yourself decent first." But then he laughed, dropping the act. "I just wanted Granger to see the goods, brother."

"George," I said, laughing now too. "Granger doesn't need to see the goods."

"Alright, maybe she doesn't _need_ it," he conceded. "But she certainly did enjoy it."

"_What_?"

"She did!" he insisted. "Didn't you see how flustered she got?"

"She's little Bookworm Hermione Granger and she just saw her best mate's brother in his boxers. Of course she's gonna be flustered."

"Oh, come off it, Freddie. I saw her. She was eyeing your bum."

"No she wasn't," I said, my face suddenly feeling hot. I didn't blush easily but the idea that Hermione Granger was ogling my bum was definitely enough to do it. "Was she?"

"Oh, she certainly was," George said, clapping me on the shoulder. "And enjoying the view too, from the looks of it, the little minx." And then his grin widened. "So what happened in the cupboard?"

"You ask that like you weren't eavesdropping right outside the door."

"Well, yeah," he said. "I was. But I couldn't hear much."

I shook my head at him, amused. "Nothing happened."

His smile slipped. "Fred," he groaned, clearly disappointed. "I gave you the perfect opportunity to woo her!"

I gave a loud, barking laugh. "How? The storage cupboard isn't exactly the most romantic setting, Georgie."

He scoffed at this. "Sure it is. The close proximity, that little body pressed up against yours, the romantic scent of jasmine swirling around you." He sighed. "You had the perfect chance to snog her." He fell silent for a long moment, and then, "I wonder if she's good at it."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Snogging?" And then I fell silent as I considered it too. "..I don't know."

"I bet she's an excellent kisser."

I looked back to him. "Yeah?" I said, all seriousness now. "You reckon?"

He nodded. "Definitely. Good at just about everything, isn't she?"

"Yeah," I said, my response slow, still thinking about it. "Yeah, I guess she is."

"And, you know, Freddie," George said, leaning into me and lowering his voice just a touch. "If she'd _really_ wanted to be out of that cupboard and away from you, she could've just apparated out." And then he straightened back up, shrugging his shoulders. "Interpret that however you'd like. _Now_–" and then his tone was suddenly back to normal, all thoughts of match-making and fantasizing momentarily abandoned. "Go grab that bottle of jasmine oil so we can mix up a batch of perfume to test."

I nodded and complied, and then the two of us set to work.

But I couldn't focus for the scent of that bloody jasmine once again flooding the room... and for my new-found curiosity about what it would be like to snog Hermione Granger.

**XxX**

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**Author's Note:** Ah.. I enjoyed writing this chapter :P I've had that idea in my head of George locking them in a cupboard together since before I even started posting this story, so it was really fun to flesh it out and see where it went :) A bit fluffy but, as some of you have said, it's nice to have a bit of fluff to balance out the darker/angsty parts!

I hope you all enjoyed reading it! As always, I'd love to hear from you in the reviews! It always makes my day and makes the hours spent writing feel worthwhile. And sometimes, (like this week!) a kind review gets me un-stuck and gets me writing again when I'm having a hard time getting going.

You guys are the best :) THANK YOU!


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I hope everyone is having a fabulous weekend :)

(And, as usual, I'm rushing a bit to get this up so I hope I haven't missed too many typos!)

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**XxX**  
**Chapter Seven**

August had come and gone, and mid-September brought a crisp breeze that had us kindling a fire in our living-room fireplace every evening.

That particular night, however, the gentle flicker illuminating the room was not coming solely from the fireplace; George had lit a handful of candles and arranged them throughout the room, placing several on the dining table now set with plates and silverware and various pots and dishes of delicious, still-steaming things to eat.

"Aww, Georgie," I said, plucking a roasted carrot from one dish and popping it into my mouth. "You shouldn't have." He simply grinned in response and proceeded to pour butterbeer into three glasses. "But really," I went on as I watched him. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion," he said, his nonchalant tone not quite matching the too-innocent expression he was giving me. "Just thought it would be nice to have a real, sit-down supper for a change."

Hermione walked in then, nose in the air, nostrils flaring slightly, clearly having been lured from her research by the tempting aromas of the food. "Wow," she said upon seeing the spread laid out on the table. "This looks nice."

George flashed her a proud smile. "Thanks, Granger." To me he said, "at least _someone_ appreciates me."

My mouth dropped open, wounded. "Oi! I appreciate you more than she does."

"I'm _positive_ that's true," Hermione agreed, her teasing tone implying that it was true because she really didn't appreciate George (or me for that matter) very much at all.

George shook his head, tutting at her cheekiness, while I narrowed my eyes and lifted a finger to point at her, playfully warning her to watch herself. She glanced away, the action bashful, but there was a small, happy smile on her face.

And then the three of us settled ourselves down around the table to eat.

George took his first bite, only to suddenly push his chair back and stand up again. "If you'll excuse me a moment," he said after seeing our raised eyebrows. "I just realized that I forgot to cast the protective wards downstairs." He scooted his now-empty chair up to the table and smiled. "I'll only be a minute. But don't wait for me; dig in!"

I leaned back in my seat, eyeing him doubtfully. Bit convenient, setting up a lovely candle-lit dinner and then suddenly remembering something else that needed to be taken care of in another room, leaving Hermione and me all alone together.

But George was not discouraged by the skeptical look I was aiming in his direction, and he turned and began to walk away.

"Alright, George," Hermione said, putting her fork down and turning in her chair to look at my twin. "What's going on here?"

George turned back to face her, eyes already widened in fake confusion. "Whatever do you mean, Granger?"

"I mean," she began, her tone dry, "I saw you cast the protective wards myself. You did it just an hour ago."

"Did I?"

"You did. And then you checked them twice."

"Ah. Right," he said, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as he tried to recall the events that had taken place an hour prior. He had indeed put up the protective wards. He _knew_ he had already done it. But what he didn't know was that Hermione had come downstairs into the shop to ask us a question and, as she'd stood there talking with me, she'd seen George on the other side of the room, putting the wards in place for the night.

"So what's really going on?" she asked again.

George and I were nothing if not quick thinkers and, for just a moment, it looked as if he was already crafting a clever cover story in his head. But then his glance drifted over to me and I saw it the second he changed his mind, his eyes telling me that it was time to stop playing around, that it was time for me to go after the girl I had supposedly fallen for.

"I think I'll just leave you two alone to talk," he said in a kind response to Hermione's question.

"_No_," I said immediately, the word a bit too harsh and desperate sounding. I hardly ever panicked, but if there was a word for something else just a bit below _panic_, I was definitely that. "Not necessary, brother dearest. _Stay_."

George narrowed his eyes at me, his confusion genuine now. "But–"

Hermione stood up, her head turning from side to side as she looked from me to George and back again. "Would someone just tell me what's going on already!?"

"Fred?" George prompted.

I liked Granger. I really did. And that was precisely why this conversation didn't ever need to happen. Granger was smart and brave and really quite beautiful and, yes, perhaps I was now extremely curious to discover her kissing techniques and abilities, but I was not in love with her. And letting her think otherwise would be quite cruel on my part.

So I shook my head. "It's nothing."

George frowned at me, and then turned to look at Hermione. "Fred fancies you, Granger."

"What!?" she shrieked, just as I shouted, "George!"

"What's wrong with you?" George asked me, the slightest hint of annoyance in his words. "I've never in my life known you to be so bloody bashful." To Hermione he added, "Blimey. You must've really done a number on him."

I ran a hand over my face. "I'm not being bashful. It's just..." I trailed off, struggling in my search for words and, finally, I groaned in frustration. "We're in the middle of a bloody war! Now's not the time for this!"

"Of course it is!" George said. "Voldemort wants to murder everyone we love. We could all be dead tomorrow! So if you and Granger fancy each other, you shouldn't waste any more time."

"Excuse me," Hermione interjected, beginning to sound a bit annoyed herself. "What if I don't fancy Fred?"

George gave her a disbelieving look. "What are you talking about? Of course you fancy Fred. Who wouldn't fancy Fred?" Hermione tried to dispute this claim, but George cut her off. "It's no use trying to deny it to me, Granger. I see the way you eye him."

Hermione huffed, unable to come up with a retort, and her entire face was red, though I couldn't tell if it was with embarrassment or anger. "Since you two are busy arguing over my _completely hypothetical_ romantic future and clearly don't want _my_ input on the matter, I think I'll go to my room now and go to bed." Her blush deepened. "Fred's room. His–bed." Her voice cracked a little, the thought of sleeping in my bed obviously an awkward one now that she thought I fancied her. "Oh, you know what I mean!" And then she stormed off.

"George," I said, the word muffled because I had my face in my hands.

"Notice that she didn't once deny fancying you back," he said, as if her rejection was all that I was worried about. I dropped my hands so I could look him in the eye. "Look," he went on. "I'm sorry if you think I was too blunt. But it was becoming obvious that you weren't going to act on this thing, so I thought I'd give you a little nudge."

"A shove off a cliff, more like," I grumbled.

George smiled, sheepish and maybe even a little apologetic. "You know I just want to see you happy."

I sighed. I couldn't be mad at him. This was all my fault, all a result of my lies. George just thought he was doing something good for me, something he thought I really wanted, to make me happy. Because he was a better brother than I could ever be.

"I know," I said, nudging his side with my elbow, letting him know I wasn't upset with him.

His smile widened in relief. "So," he said, sneaking a glance down the hallway before looking back to me. "You gonna go after her?"

I thought about it for a moment. Part of me wanted to follow her, to clear things up, but I wasn't entirely sure how to do that. Finally, I shook my head.

"Nah. She seemed pretty fed up with us. I'll try to smooth things over with her in the morning."

xx

But I didn't see Hermione the next morning.

I didn't see her all day, in fact, and when I finally worked up the nerve to venture to my room and knock on the door that night, hoping that we could talk and I could apologize for all the awkwardness of the night before (and perhaps explain to her that it'd all been a big misunderstanding and that George had no idea what he was talking about), she wasn't there.

"Looking for Granger?" George asked, appearing from out of nowhere and leaning against the doorframe as he looked at me.

"Yeah. Have you seen her?"

He grinned. "You might want to try the roof."

"Merlin, please don't tell me you've got her tied up up there," I said.

But George just laughed.

"I do like the way your brain works, Freddie," he said. "Now stop hanging around down here. Go on."

xx

I found Hermione standing alone on the dark rooftop of our building. All of the shops in Diagon Alley had closed down, and even the owners who'd chosen to stay and carry on living in the flats above them tended to keep their windows darkened so as not to draw attention to themselves. But the gas lamps still glowed pale yellow on the street below and these now lit Hermione from behind, casting her into soft silhouette.

"Hermione, what are you doing out here?" I asked, glancing at the windows of the shop across the street, searching for spies. "You shouldn't be standing out in the open like this. It's not safe."

"Protective barrier," she said simply, and she reached an arm just beyond the stone ledge, her finger gently poking what appeared to be nothing more than thin air, until it rippled out in small waves at her touch, revealing the protective bubble surrounding us. "No one can see us."

"I appreciate you and George letting me stay here," she went on. "I really do. But I can't stay locked inside forever. Especially with weather like this." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and then exhaled it, a smile gracing her face. "Do you smell that?"

I took a breath as well and immediately understood what she meant. There was a distinctive scent carried on the wind. It was cool and crisp and earthy, like decaying leaves, their subtle perfume filling the air, heralding the quick approach of Autumn.

"Autumn was always my favorite season as a little girl," Hermione said, not looking at me, but staring straight ahead at the dark skyline. "My dad would rake all the leaves in the garden into big piles and let me jump in them. And then when I was too tired and too chilled to jump, mum would be waiting inside with a blanket and a cup of hot chocolate and my favorite book." She looked down at her feet, swallowing audibly over the lump that had formed in her throat.

She hadn't talked much about her parents in recent weeks but, when she'd first come to stay with my parents over the summer, I'd overheard my mum explaining things to dad, whispering to him in a pitying tone that Hermione had been forced to send her own mum and dad away to protect them.

Just one of so many things sacrificed in this war.

"Today is my birthday, you know."

She looked up at me now and I opened my mouth to apologize for not realizing, for not saying or doing anything to celebrate, but she saw the expression of panic on my face and, in spite of the tears in her eyes, gave a little laugh.

"It's alright," she said. "I didn't expect you to know. With everything going on, I nearly forgot myself."

And then the tears were falling.

"Hey," I said, reaching out for her arm and pulling her in for a hug. "I'm not gonna tell you it's alright," I said. "None of this is alright. But it _will_ be." She didn't respond and, really, I couldn't blame her. "I know, it doesn't feel that way right now, does it?" I asked, and finally she shook her head against my chest. "Yeah," I agreed, tightening my hold on her. "But it will be. Eventually. One way or another. The darkness can't last forever."

Hermione sniffled. "I'm so worried about Harry and Ron."

"I know."

"It's been over a month since the attack on the wedding. A month with no word. I still have no idea where they are or if they're okay."

I wanted to tell her that they must be fine, that I knew that because Voldemort was now nearly mad with impatience and rage over the fact that no one had been able to find Harry Potter or his two best friends yet.

"C'mon," I said, trying to make my tone cheerful as I rubbed a hand up and down her arm. "No news is good news, right? If they'd been caught, we'd know it."

She pulled back, nodding eagerly, her expression suddenly firm and resolute, determined to believe me. "You're right," she said. "They're okay. I know they are. I can feel it."

She reached up, brushing the tears away, and she actually started to giggle.

"I'm sorry," she said with a laugh. "I swear I didn't summon you up here so that I could cry all over you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You summoned me? I assumed this was just another one of George's ridiculous matchmaking schemes."

Looking a little embarrassed, Hermione shook her head. She turned away from me then and, with a wave of her wand, a dozen little candlelights flickered into life on the hard, concrete rooftop, circling a picnic basket, two plates, and two cups, all set atop a thick, fleecy blanket. "George helped a bit," Hermione said, now looking to me again. "But this was all my idea."

"I'm–" I paused, reaching up to scratch the back of my neck as I searched for the right word. "Confused?" I said at last.

"Really? And here I was thinking that a candlelit, rooftop picnic was a little too obvious."

I forced a smile. "I'm just surprised, is all. I got the distinct impression that you were feeling something between _irritated_ and _mortified_ last night."

"Well. Yes," she conceded. "George was rather blunt about the whole thing and it certainly caught me off guard. I never considered the possibility that you might be interested in me. I mean, I _hoped_, but I never actually thought..." She trailed off, laughing breathlessly, clearly nervous.

"You hoped?" I asked, not sure I'd heard that correctly. "Are you saying–" I paused and shook my spinning head. "What exactly are you saying?"

She smiled, blushing. "I'm saying I'm interested. In you."

Oh, Merlin. "But I thought I drove you mental!"

She laughed. "You do."

"Okay." My palms were starting to sweat. I never meant for this lie to go beyond the walls of my bedroom the night I'd fed it to George, but even if I _had_ imagined it reaching Hermione's ears, I never in a million years would've imagined it playing out like _this_. Hermione Granger. Rule-lover and Bookworm Extraordinaire, fancying me? "So what's changed?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, and failing miserably.

"You have."

"I have," I repeated. Apparently I was turning into a parrot.

Hermione nodded. "You're still you. But you're different, too. Something's changed. " She grew silent, frowning slightly as she tried to put a finger on whatever it was. Obviously she didn't know the truth behind my sudden maturation, because if she'd known that I was mixing it up with Voldemort and his lot, we'd be having a much different sort of conversation, one that would probably involve her screaming at me and calling me stupid or vile or both. But, as it was, she didn't know the truth, and finally she shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know what it is. But you've really matured. You're brave. And loyal. And underneath all the arrogance, you have a good heart."

My palms were definitely sweating now.

"You've always had a good heart," she clarified. "But it's like, now you're all of those things, _but more_. You're braver. More loyal. More kind-hearted. Like the way you comforted me that night in the garden when Harry and Ron tried to leave me." Her voice softened as she added, "and that hug, just now." And then she took a small step towards me.

"Erm. Well," I said, rather intelligently. "We're friends, aren't we?"

She nodded. "Yes. But is that it? Hasn't it become more than that?" I wasn't sure I followed her train of thought or the implications there, and when I didn't answer immediately she playfully rolled her eyes. "We've been flirting for weeks, haven't we?"

Flirting?

Had we?

I mean, the lingering touch in the garden that first night, the teasing, my ogling her nice legs at the wedding, a few winks and compliments here and there, and, sure, she had blushed and fidgeted and smiled and teased back and–

Okay. Right. So we had been flirting.

But I flirted with everyone. Hell, I even flirted with George. None of it necessarily meant anything; that's just who I was.

But in that moment, looking down at Hermione, her wide brown eyes gazing back up at me, I realized something.

Flirting might've been who I was, but it wasn't Granger. All those little interactions had meant something to her, they'd been deliberate, and they'd apparently culminated into real feelings.

Oh, hell.

Oh, bloody hell.

I swallowed, not possessing the slightest clue of how to handle the mess I'd made. "Granger," I said, my tone uncertain, not knowing which approach would be better: to pile on the lies and make her happy momentarily, or tell the truth and hurt and embarrass her. Neither option was particularly appealing.

"What about Ron?" I blurted out, pleased to have perhaps thought of something that could make Granger reconsider.

But she just raised an eyebrow like she couldn't understand why I'd be bringing him into this. "What about him?"

"Aren't you two–"

"Friends," she interrupted. "And it's better that way, I assure you."

"Right. Okay. Good to know," I said, nodding and trying to look like I was relieved to hear this. "But everything else aside, are you sure it's really the best time for this? Everything is so mental right now. Emotions are running high, you know. Maybe we should wait."

She laughed at this. "Wait until when?"

"Until the war is over, perhaps? Until we know we're going to be alive next week?"

She shook her head. "But that's exactly why it's the perfect time for this. George is right. We don't know if we'll get a tomorrow."

"I know that. I know. But–"

"Fred," she said, now frowning. "Why does it feel like you're trying to find a reason not to be with me?"

"I'm not," I lied, and Hermione believed me. Feeling reassured, she took another step towards me. She was close now. Pressed-up-against-me close. "Hermione..."

She tilted her head back to better look at me. There was a tiny smile on her face, probably because I was now the one blushing like mad. "Fred?"

I cleared my throat, hoping to also clear my hazy brain. "Don't you reckon we should take just a minute to think about this before we do anything too rash?"

Her smile widened, curving into something a little more mischievous. "You may not believe this," she said, inching up oh-so-slowly onto her tip-toes, "but sometimes I actually get tired of thinking so much."

And then she kissed me.

It was a timid kiss, slow and a little uncertain, an unfamiliar and mildly terrifying act for two people who'd spent the seven long years of their acquaintance as nothing more than friends. But it was still a kiss–a kiss from _Hermione_–and it left my brain in such a state of melt-down that I neither closed my eyes nor reciprocated.

Hermione Granger was _kissing_ me.

Until she wasn't...

She pulled back slowly, searching my eyes and finding that they were still wide-open and staring down at her in shock.

"You didn't–" she started to say, the rising panic she felt made evident on her face. "You didn't kiss me back."

I took a shaky breath. "Hermione–"

"Not even a little. And I have yet to hear it from your own mouth that you feel the same way I do." At this realization, she gasped. "Was George making it all up? Is this a prank?" Her eyes were filling with tears again. "Was this just some horrible joke?"

"_No_," I said, my face serious, my tone firm and insistent. "Hermione, I swear. It wasn't a joke." And it wasn't. A lie, maybe. But not a prank. Not a joke at her expense.

But my words didn't seem to do anything to ease her fears, because that's all they were: words.

But what could I do? I couldn't risk revealing my real secret by admitting that I'd lied about having feelings for her, and I didn't want to hurt her by rejecting her while she stood in front of me with her heart in her hands. But I didn't want to lie and lead her on either, because that would only hurt her in the long run...

But, Merlin help me, she looked so beautiful right then, candlelight flickering in big, dark, pain-filled eyes, Autumn breeze gently lifting and fanning the curls around her face.

And she deserved to be happy, didn't she?

I thought back to all the times I'd seen her cry recently. There'd been too many.

She and George were right. None of us had any idea how long we had left. _Especially_ Hermione who, even as we stood there together, was desperately being sought by the darkest wizard our world had ever known.

If she'd found something that made her happy, she deserved to enjoy it while she had the chance, right?

And perhaps I was a complete and total arse for even thinking it but, the fact that it was me she wanted? Me who gave her a little bit of happiness and comfort in a world gone absolutely mad?

It felt better than I should've been willing to admit.

Hermione was pulling further away from me now, and my pulse quickened as I realized I didn't want to let her do that.

I couldn't let her walk away, not like this, her hopes and her heart crushed by my doing.

My own heart pounded in my chest as my fingers found her wrist and closed around it to stop her from leaving.

She looked back at me, still hurting, more confused now than ever, and I nearly faltered, fear and doubt and concern and curiosity all waging war and fighting for dominance inside my head.

_Don't think_, I told myself, blocking out the tiny voice of my conscience, screaming at me that this was really a terrible, _terrible_ idea.

But I'd had plenty of practice at ignoring my conscience.

So I gave Hermione's wrist a firm tug, yanking her into place until she was pressed right up against me again and I was no longer able to recall why I'd been listening to my conscience a moment earlier because, sweet Merlin, this felt really bloody good.

And then I snogged Hermione Granger until we were both breathless.

**XxX**

* * *

**Author's Note: **Siiiigh. I had such a strong urge to write Autumn scenes. It is SO hot and sticky and miserable in the southern U.S. right now, and it's only gonna get worse over the next two months :( So the sweet little Autumn night rooftop scene (with the added bonus of first kisses!) was a pleasure to write :)

I hope you all enjoyed it too!

Thanks so much for all the continued reviews and follows and favs. You are the loveliest of readers! Please feel free to carry on with them ;)

(And if there's nice, cool weather wherever you live, go outside and blow really hard in my direction to send some of it my way, please :))


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